The Facts Of This World Seen Clearly

Screw Poetry, It’s You I Want, Your Taste, Rain On You, Mouth On Your Skin.

I Walk Away From Him. It's Enormously Pleasing To Me, This Walking Away. It's Like Being Able To Make People Appear And Vanish, At Will.

Some Days I Do Appreciate Things More, Eggs, Flowers, But Then I Decide I'm Only Having An Attack Of Sentimentality, My Brain Going Pastel Technicolor, Like A Beautiful-sunset Greeting Cards They Used To Make So Many Of In California. High-gloss Hearts. The Danger Is Grayout.

You Aren't Sick & Unhappy Only Alive & Stuck With It.

We Thought We Had Such Problems. How Were We To Know We Were Happy?