Everyone Loves The Dream But I Kill

Stories Heard But Not Recalled. Letters Too. Words Filling My Head. Fragmenting Like Artillery Shells. Shrapnel, Like Syllables, Flying Everywhere. Terrible Syllables. Sharp Cracked. Traveling At Murderous Speed. Tearing Through It All In A Very, Very Bad Inreparable Way.

I'm Not Independently Wealthy.

People Frequently Comment On The Emptiness In One Night Stands, But Emptiness Here Has Always Been Just Another Word For Darkness. Blind Encounters Writing Sonnets No One Can Ever Read. Desire And Pain Communicated In The Vague Language Of Sex. None Of Which Made Sense To Me Until Much Later When I Realized Everything I Thought I'd Retained Of My Encounters Added Up To So Very Little, Hardly Enduring, Just Shadows Of Love Outlining Nothing At All.

...she Still Cannot Resist Looking Out The Window Every Couple Of Minutes. The Sound Of A Passing Truck Causes Her To Glance Away. Even If There Is No Sound, The Weight Of A Hundred Seconds Always Turns Her Head.

Very Soon He Will Vanish Completely In The Wings Of His Own Wordless Stanza. [ ] But His Stanza Is Not Completely Empty [ * ]