No need to fear death. There will be a tunnel and light.
Meanwhile music pounded / across hearts opening every valve to the desperate drama of being / a self in a song.
Each night about this time he puts on sadness like a garment and goes on writing.
Do you remember when they taught cursive in schools? I think they don't anymore. But I still enjoy it - just the physical act and all the - the whole business of making a thing out of language.
Here we go mother on the shipless ocean. Pity us, pity the ocean, here we go.
There is no person without a world.