No Luck Was Dumb Because Luck Was

War Is What Happens When Language Fails.

I Suppose It's Everyone's Fate To Be Reduced To Quaintness By Those Younger Than Themselves.

We Lived In The Gaps Between The Stories

Beginnings Are Sudden, But Also Insidious. They Creep Up On You Sideways, They Keep To The Shadows, They Lurk Unrecognized. Then, Later, They Spring.

Your Hand Is A Warm Stone I Hold Between Two Words.