The Heart The Heart The

The Heart The Heart The Heart How It Thrives On Hate.

No One Knows, The Heart Of A Child, How It Grows Until It Is Too Late.

There Is No Man Can Take, There Is No Pool Can Slake, Ultimately I Am Alone; Ultimately I Am Done.

The Stallion And His Mare, Unbridled, With Arrow-pattern, Are Worked On. The Blue Cloth Before The Door Of Religion And Inspiration.

No Poetic Phantasy But A Biological Reality, A Fact: I Am An Entity Like Bird, Insect, Plant Or Sea-plant Cell; I Live; I Am Alive.