For the radiance of the winding-sheet is my radiance.

For the clump of beans on the stove resists the Heavens.

For she was not persuaded by my delirious horse.

For the shadow expelled by the dark lung lies in the dustcart.

For my fork is missing one of its tines.

For the typology of the ancients results in sad fucking.

For a sow is a plug of milkable time.