My Muse Sits Forlorn She

Death's Not A Separation Or Alteration Or Parting; It's Just A One-handled Door.

I Only Asked My Friends To Be Friendly And Polite, I Found Them Indifferent And Censorious; The One I Left To Silence, The Other To Reproach: God Send Me Over All Such Friends Victorious.

The Sea Was Angry That Day My Friend, Like An Old Man Trying To Send Back Soup At A Deli.

Marriage I Think For Women Is The Best Of Opiates. It Kills The Thoughts That Think About The Thoughts, It Is The Best Of Opiates. So Said Maria. But Too Long In Solitude She'd Dwelt, And Too Long Her Thoughts Had Felt Their Strength. So When The Man Drew Near, Out Popped Her Thoughts And Covered Him With Fear. Poor Maria! Better That She Had Kept Her Thoughts On A Chain, For Now She's Alone Again And All In Pain; She Sighs For The Man That Went And The Thoughts That Stay To Trouble Her Dreams By Night And Her Dreams By Day.

The Religion Of Christianity Is Mixed Of Sweetness And Cruelty Reject This Sweetness, For She Wears A Smoky Dress Out Of Hell Fires.