I Don't Want My Daughter

For Fear You Will Be Alone You Do So Many Things That Aren't You At All.

The Bookstore Was A Parking Lot For Used Graveyards. Thousands Of Graveyards Were Parked In Rows Like Cars. Most Of The Books Were Out Of Print, And No One Wanted To Read Them Any More And The People Who Had Read The Books Had Died Or Forgotten About Them, But Through The Organic Process Of Music The Books Had Become Virgins Again.

Gee, You're So Beautiful That It's Starting To Rain Oh, Marcia, I Want Your Long Blonde Beauty To Be Taught In High School, So Kids Will Learn That God Lives Like Music In The Skin And Sounds Like A Sunshine Harpsicord. I Want High School Report Cards To Look Like This: Playing With Gentle Glass Things A Computer Magic A Writing Letters To Those You Love A Finding Out About Fish A Marcia's Long Blonde Beauty A+!

Excuse Me, I Said. I Thought You Were A Trout Stream. I'm Not, She Said.

Im Haunted A Little This Evening By Feelings That Have No Vocabulary And Events That Should Be Explained In Dimensions Of Lint Rather Than Words. Ive Been Examining Half-scraps Of My Childhood. They Are Pieces Of Distant Life That Have No Form Or Meaning. They Are Things That Just Happened Like Lint.