I Sank Back In The Gray, Plush

I Had Decided I Would Put Off The Novel Until I Had Gone To Europe And Had A Lover.

But Writing Poems And Letters Doesn't Seem To Do Much Good.

A Dispassionate White Sun Shone At The Summit Of The Sky. I Wanted To Hone Myself On It Till I Grew Saintly And Thin And Essential As The Blade Of A Knife.

There Is A Certain Unique And Strange Delight About Walking Down An Empty Street Alone.

Doing All The Little Tricky Things It Takes To Grow Up, Step By Step, Into An Anxious And Unsettling World.