In our age, if a boy or girl is untalented, the odds are in favor of their thinking they want to write.
How body from spirit slowly does unwind, until we are pure spirit at the end.
Wake the happy words.
What is madness but nobility of soul at odds with circumstance?
And what a congress of stinks!- Roots ripe as old bait, Pulpy stems, rank, silo-rich, Leaf mold, manure, lime, piled against slippery planks, Nothing would give up life: Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath.
The darkness has it's own light.