It's Pretty Hard To Have

Burn All The Maps To Your Body. I'm Not Here Of My Own Choosing.

Finding Is Losing Something Else. I Think About, Perhaps Even Mourn, What I Lost To Find This

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.

There Are Seductions That Should Be In The Smithsonian Institute, Right Next To The Spirit Of St. Louis.

I Drank Coffee And Read Old Books And Waited For The Year To End.