When I Was Very Little,

He Pulled Away, But His Eyes Held My Eyes Like Hands.

Are You Angry? Punch A Pillow. Was It Satisfying? Not Hardly. These Days People Are Too Angry For Punching. What You Might Try Is Stabbing. Take An Old Pillow And Lay It On The Front Lawn. Stab It With A Big Pointy Knife. Again And Again And Again. Stab Hard Enough For The Point Of The Knife To Go Into The Ground. Stab Until The Pillow Is Gone And You Are Just Stabbing The Earth Again And Again, As If You Want To Kill It For Continuing To Spin, As If You Are Getting Revenge For Having To Live On This Planet Day After Day, Alone.

All I Ever Really Want To Know Is How Other People Are Making It Through Life—where Do They Put Their Body, Hour By Hour, And How Do They Cope Inside Of It.

For A Split Second I Felt As Though She Was Nobody Special In The Larger Scheme Of My Life. She Was Just Some Girl Who Had Tied Me To Her Leg To Help Her Sink When She Jumped Off The Bridge. Then I Blinked And Was In Love With Her Again.

If There Were A Map Of The Solar System, But Instead Of Stars It Showed People And Their Degrees Of Separation, My Star Would Be The One You Had To Travel The Most Light-years From To Get To His. You Would Die Getting To Him.