I am running through a snowfall which is her thighs, he dramatized in purple. Her thighs are filling up the street. Wide as a snowfall, heavy as huge falling Zeppelins, her damp thighs are settling on the sharp roofs and wooden balconies. Weather-vanes press the shape of roosters and sail-boats into the skin. The faces of famous statues are preserved like intaglios.

Every heart to Love will come, but like a refugee

Get ready for the future: it is murder.

The birds they sangat the break of day.Start again!!I heard them say

He knew that hair couldn't feel; he kissed her hair.

You have to keep cracking yourself open or you become a parody of yourself.

The last refuge of the insomniac is a sense of superiority to the sleeping world.