You Work Hard On A Book And

Even As Your Body Betrays You, Your Mind Denies It.

Sometimes I Think That If I Had To Choose Between An Ear Of Corn Or Making Love To A Woman, I'd Choose The Corn. Not That I Wouldn't Love To Have A Final Roll In The Hay - I Am A Man Yet, And Something Never Die - But The Thought Of Those Sweet Kernels Bursting Between My Teeth Sure Sets My Mouth To Watering. It's Fantasy, I Know That. Neither Will Happen. I Just Like To Weight The Options, As Though I Were Standing In Front Of Solomon: A Final Roll In The Hay Or An Ear Of Corn. What A Wonderful Dilemma. Sometimes I Substitute An Apple For The Corn.

Although, Pretending Not To Notice Is Almost Worse Than Noticing.

Jacob: I've Never Seen So Much Manure. Wade: Baggage Stock Horses. They Pack'em In 27 A Car. Jacob: How Do You Stand The Smell? Wade: What Smell?

I Cling To My Anger With Every Ounce Of Humanity Left In My Ruined Body, But It's No Use. It Slips Away, Like A Wave From Shore. I Am Pondering This Sad Fact When I Realize The Blackness Of Sleep Is Circling My Head. It's Been There Awhile, Biding It's Time And Growing Closer With Each Revolution. I Give Up On Rage, Which At This Point Has Become A Formality, And Make A Mental Note To Get Angry Again In The Morning. Then I Let Myself Drift, Because There's Really No Fighting It.