Fear / A Motor, /

The Heart, This Child Of Myself That Resides In The Flesh, This Ultimate Signature Of The Me, The Start Of My Blindness And Sleep, Builds A Death Crèche.

There Is Joy In All: In The Hair I Brush Each Morning, In The Cannon Towel, Newly Washed, That I Rub My Body With Each Morning.

Nature Is Full Of Teeth That Come In One By One, Then Decay, Fall Out.

Mood Can Be As Important As Sense.

Women Are Born Twice.