God Went Out Of Me As If

Rats Live On No Evil Star

I'm The Crazy One Who Thinks That Words Reach People.

There Is Joy In All: In The Hair I Brush Each Morning, In The Cannon Towel, Newly Washed, That I Rub My Body With Each Morning.

But My Future Is A Secret. / It Is As Shy As A Mole.

The Tongue, The Chinese Say, Is Like A Sharp Knife: It Kills Without Drawing Blood.