every restriction is sacrosanct.
let the mind wander and see if it boomerangs.
and i saw the end of all my joys.
silence, what’s that?
we might get a kick out of your idea and adopt it
the years leave a thin film of rime.
if i see salome, then that’s that, c’est tout.
make the fear of god from mirrors and rope.
to ask the dust: