Dear Joni Mitchell,
If you read my tea leaf prophesy you would
see that I am nothing but an angel made of tin. I gave all my pretty
years to the things of childhood and I am not even a straw-flower now. I
watch the sun set but I never see it rise because morning frightens me.
I am made of night and the black devours me and I forget that love is
exactly like hate. I am only blonde because heaven thought it would be
ironic. You are my only truth and I hold to it as my creed. Everyone
hates. And they do it in the name of heaven. I hate love and love hate.
And I do it in the name of you.
Your Lady of the Canyon,