These words are crude utensils, with which to touch you, and be touched;

Some time ago, I made my way down to the crossroads, to try my lucky hand at the devil’s gaming tables.

“Don’t say anything!” spoke the shadow in the doorway. I was seven years of age. I lay limp upon the couch, still recovering from

Within this pilgrim’s soul exists a hungry beggar waif, who can never afford a moment of indifference or distraction. Alert to every aching nuance

Come out, come out, wherever you are. I know you’re in here. You dirty little secret.

Way up there on that hill of yours; that most hard-won ivory tower. Hiding there behind your perfect guise

How does a landed mariner ever tell a living soul about the exquisite rapture of the sultry siren’s song ? As it echoed through the mist,

A sudden gust of bitter wind from somewhere hot and foul, whooped and howled throughout the scattered waste and scrabble down that God-forsaken alley.

Everything he has ever been taught alerts him to avert that dancing f… What is it then that demands he mu… proceed towards his certain fiery… Some deep and ancient voice within

I am here now. I have removed my outer garments, placed my trust within your circle… I have come because you promised. You told me you would be here