The Art Of Losing Isn't

Dreams Were The Worst. Of Course I Dreamed Of Food And Love, But They Were Pleasant Rather Than Otherwise. But Then I'd Dream Of Things Like Slitting A Baby's Throat, Mistaking It For A Baby Goat. I'd Have Nightmares Of Other Islands Stretching Away From Mine, Infinities Of Islands, Islands Spawning Islands, Like Frogs' Eggs Turning Into Polliwogs Of Islands, Knowing That I Had To Live On Each And Every One, Eventually, For Ages, Registering Their Flora, Their Fauna, Their Geography.

Time To Plant Tears, Says The Almanac. The Grandmother Sings To The Marvelous Stove And The Child Draws Another Inscrutable House.

Democracy In The Contemporary World Demands, Among Other Things, An Educated And Informed People.

The Whole Shadow Of Man Is Only As Big As His Hat.

Heaven Is Not Like Flying Or Swimming, But Has Something To Do With Blackness And A Strong Glare.