first fruits hardly a handful, the garden

this being we are, delights in all things, yes but is held breathless

if i stub my fucking toe it’s their fault so say i, and who could argue? you almost

liking to say things, all kinds of things, mostly about the way things seem

was all stupid. you weren’t that entertaining. i find it all only sad now, that

may be too onerous a task for those not starving. lucky

does a king come ready– made, or doesn’t he emerge from a prince once a frog, and aren’t you

god is unwelcome in suburbia, the cells are too comfortable there, & love rests best under stars.

got the sex drive of 15 young bulls, but the women are all scared.

they really do know how to shove something up your ass like

man, it’s hard to come down from impossible hopes seemingly

we go walking around walking all over this town nothing ever getting us down cause we’re just a couple of clown…

being drawn back unlike a bowstring but down and in as water finds the lowest

like bell bottoms or disco but we need it to think i’m dead