One can't build little white picket fences to keep nightmares out.
One of my secret instructions to myself as a poet is "Whatever you do, don't be boring."
And the aura of you remains, remains, remains...
I wonder if the artist ever lives his life--he is so busy recreating it.
Not that it was beautiful, but that I found some order there.
Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.