The Chill Of What I

Art Gives Us The Illusion Of Liberation From The Sordid Business Of Being.

My Joy Is As Painful As My Pain.

Since I Wasn't Able To Leave A Succession Of Beautiful Lies, I Want To Leave The Smidgen Of Truth That The Falsehood Of Everything Lets Us Suppose We Can Tell.

What Has Happened To Us Has Happened To Everyone Or Only To Us; If To Everyone, Then It's No Novelty, And If Only To Us, Then It Won't Be Understood.

God Wills, Man Dreams, The Work Is Born.