“There may well be ways to catch the silence. As the words pour like honey from our mouths – as they yap and pour sweetness that rots our teeth and others ‘ ears, and we weave gross nets of nothing to try and to trap Meaning into this world so without meaning - we must look into a mirror and see our lips forming a series of a hundred rows of nothings. We must look into the mirror: see the selfsameimage englassed and blabbing away into eternity. From the mirror a small step to the windows: the smudges and stains tell us of the myriad faces that wedge their faces till they might crack against the glass: as they mouth that wide hopeless ooooooooooo, it is impressed, by the grace of LordNothing foreverandever, into the structure – the smudges are inside the pane..no one shall know us, nor ever shall..and love, I believe, does not exist..and on the stars march..on and on and on..to oblivion..and so we fall under the hooves of all the pretty little horses ..and we see clearly, now, the inmostlight. Go to sleepy, little baby. When you wake, you shall ride all the pretty little horses. When we wake, we shall have all the pretty little horsies..”