Planning To Write Is Not

I Knew He Was Unreliable, But He Was Fun To Be With. He Was A Child’s Ideal Companion, Full Of Surprises And Happy Animal Energy. He Enjoyed Food And Drink. He Liked To Try New Things. He Brought Home Coconuts, Papayas, Mangoes, And Urged Them On Our Reluctant Conservative Selves. On Sundays He Liked To Discover New Places, Take Us On Endless Bus Or Trolley Rides To Some New Park Or Beach He Knew About. He Always Counseled Daring, In Whatever Situation, The Courage To Test The Unknown, An Instruction That Was Thematically In Opposition To My Mother’s.

I Can Walk Into A Bookstore And Hand Over My Credit Card And They Don't Know Who The Hell I Am. Maybe That Says Something About Bookstore Clerks.

The Poem Is A Cry Of The Unborn Heart. Yes, Because The Poem Perfectly Embodies The World, There Is No World Without Poem.

Someone Dying Asks If There Is Life After Death. Yes, Comes The Answer, Only Not Yours.

Dad Is Always Hiding In His Book.