Some People Are Larger Than

They Passed Out Of The Shade Beneath The Eaves And Flew Into Sunglare And Silence And It Was An Action She Only Partly Saw, Elusive And Mutely Beautiful, The Birds So Sunstruck They Were Consumed By Light, Disembodied, Turned Into Something Sheer And Fleet And Scatter-bright.

Insanity's So Personal. It's Hard To Know Who Shares Our Secrets.

Maybe When We Die, The First Thing We'll Say Is 'i Know This Feeling. I Was Here Before'.

Brilliant People Never Think Of The Lives They Smash, Being Brilliant.

If I Were A Writer, How I Would Enjoy Being Told The Novel Is Dead. How Liberating To Work In The Margins, Outside A Central Perception. You Are The Ghoul Of Literature. Lovely.