Kissoon's Loop

Now every gentleman in Rome is wearing Saigon cologne-- and the farmer in the dell has gone to Hell, gone to Hell.

Heaven's just a fathom high— with olive skin and darkest eye— while Hell's two fathoms further down— and I, a dead man on the ground...

your belying eyes—circumspect, ring-scribed in light—fire my insides, blister my lips and sizzle my skin. kiln to my earthenware, you gl...

he's not telling me something (you're not telling me something) his snowy smile kept my heart cold (you don't smile at me anymor...

Here: so close to the end of the year: things . . are fall in g . . . . . . apart.

I sometimes worry that—if I get too close, too physically close to a person—the images which I cannot remove from my head will burst forth. ...