You Really Can’t Write Unless

I Am In An Adolescence In Reverse, As Mysterious As The First, Except That This Time I Feel It As A Decay Of The Odds That I Might Live For A While, That I Can Sleep It Off.

Often Writing Is Like A Struggle To Get Back To A Kind Of Belated, Quite Impure Virginity.

Athletes Have Studied How To Leap And How To Survive The Leap Some Of The Time And Return To The Ground. They Don't Always Do It Well. But They Are Our Philosophers Of Actual Moments And The Body And Soul In Them, And Of Our Maneuvers In Our Emergencies And Longings.

Memory, So Complete And Clear Or So Evasive, Has To Be Ended, Has To Be Put Aside, As If One Were Leaving A Chapel And Bringing The Prayer To An End In One's Head.

I Am Sensible Of The Velocity Of The Moments, And Entering That Part Of My Head Alert To The Motion Of The World I Am Aware That Life Was Never Perfect, Never Absolute. This Bestows Contentment, Even A Fearlessness.