What Comfort There Is In The Skin

You May Turn Into An Archangel, A Fool, Or A Criminal—no One Will See It. But When A Button Is Missing—everyone Sees That.

The Storm Lashes Us, Out Of The Confusion Of Grey And Yellow The Hail Of Splinters Whips Forth The Childlike Cries Of The Wounded, And In The Night Shattered Life Groans Painfully Into Silence. Our Hands Are Earth, Our Bodies Clay And Our Eyes Pools Of Rain. We Do Not Know Whether We Are Still Alive.

... Clothes Sometimes Gave One More Of A Lift Than Any Philosophic Comforting.

Through The Years Our Business Has Been Killing;-it Was Our First Calling In Life. Our Knowledge Of Lif Eis Limited To Death.

We Have Our Dreams Because Without Them We Could Not Bear The Truth.