Her Smile, I'm Sure, Burnt Rome To

I Want Something Else. I'm Not Even Sure What To Call It Anymore Except I Know It Feels Roomy And It's Drenched In Sunlight And It's Weightless And I Know It's Not Cheap. Probably Not Even Real

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.

Love Of Love Written By The Broken Hearted, Love Of Life Written By The Dead.

...and There You Have It, Another Body On The Floor Surrounded By Things That Don't Mean Much To Anyone Except To The One Who Can't Take Any Of Them Along.

He [zampano] Probably Would Of Insisted On Corrections And Edits, He Was His Own Harshest Critic, But I've Come To Believe Errors, Especially Written Errors, Are Often The Only Markers Left By A Solitary Life: To Sacrifice Them Is To Lose The Angels Of Personality, The Riddle Of A Soul. In This Case A Very Old Soul. A Very Old Riddle.