There's More Danger In The Violence You

Most Of The Time In Our World, Truth Is Just Opinion.

She Had A Laugh That Hinted It Had Rolled Around Once Or Twice In The Mud.

Her Life With Others No Longer Interests Him. He Wants Only Her Stalking Beauty, Her Theatre Of Expressions. He Wants The Minute Secret Reflection Between Them, The Depth Of Field Minimal, Their Foreignness Intimate Like Two Pages Of A Closed Book.

It's Why You Create Characters: So You Can Argue With Yourself.

What Began It All Was The Bright Bone Of A Dream I Could Hardly Hold Onto.