I Shall Remain On Mars

Poverty Made A Sound Like A Wet Cough In The Shadows Of The Room.

The Books Leapt And Danced Like Roasted Birds, Their Wings Ablaze With Red And Yellow Feathers.

How Talented Was Death. How Many Expressions And Manipulations Of Hand, Face, Body, No Two Alike.

And The Odd Think In Dad's Voice Was The Sound Truth Makes Being Said.

Where Would You Like To Go, What Would You Really Like To Do With Your Life? See Istanbul, Port Said, Nairobi, Budapest. Write A Book. Smoke Too Many Cigarettes. Fall Off A Cliff But Get Caught In A Tree Halfway Down. Get Shot At A Few Times In A Dark Alley On A Morrocan Midnight. Love A Beautiful Woman.