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I | The Funeral - We've Got to Get Some Flowers | 1 |
II | Choir Boys Who Are Waving the Verdigris Incense Boxes in the Wind | 12 |
III | My Deepest Desire Is to Dehumanize Myself | 29 |
IV | A Snowstorm That Enables a Thief to Escape | 39 |
V | The Only Way of Escaping the Horror is to Submit to the Horror | 48 |
VI | I Bear a Charnel House inside Myself, and Poetry Will Have to Answer for it | 59 |
VII | A Very Brief Note on Lousy Paper, on a Kind of Gray Ash | 67 |
VIII | The Galley Slaves' Chains Were Called: The Vines. What Kind of Fruit Did They Bear? | 70 |
IX | Thus I Will Stop Writing That I Am "Literally" Dying | 77 |
X | I Burned for So Long, Burned with Such Glowing Hatred That I Turned to Ash | 86 |
XI | I Heard the Horses' Hoof Steps as They Drew the Cart Bearing the Coffin with the Executed Man into the Small Cemetery | 93 |
XII | Two Angels, Tired of Flying, Have Sat Down to Rest on a Telegraph Pole | 105 |
XIII | And That Is Actual Holiness: To Live According to the Sky, Despite God | 111 |
XIV | I Am Talking about a Country Whose Skin Was Torn Away, Down to Its Bones | 117 |
XV | The Horse Drawing the Funeral Wagon Was Tired. Two Choir Boys, One of Whom Held the Incense Branch in His Hand, Were Secretly Whistling a Pop Tune | 137 |
Bibliography of Works Consulted | 139 |
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