No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story.
Daffodils of autumn
Do you know why the stars never fail the night when it’s young and early? We’ve lost more time drawing ourselves into a tomorrow we aren’t in.
For The Beatles IT was yeah, yeah, yeah, IT was across the universe. Dylan found IT in the captain’s tower between Ezra and Eliot, or possibly in the tightrope walker’s pants.
Moving restively through a corridor of dust. A beep of a car alarm being armed reminds me of a fire consuming a town.
I am a chameleon among skinks; Species and species not mixing. So, they talk, And I blend in.
...what I mean is does it have to hurt to mean something?
After that, of course, he had no choice but to ridicule the mourners, mock their tears, as if the moisture on his own face were in any way human.