Yesterday I did not want to be borrowed but this is the typewriter that sits before me and love is where yesterday is at.

I burn the way money burns.

She is so naked and singular. She is the sum of yourself and your dream. Climb her like a monument, step after step. She is solid.

The future is a fog that is still hanging out over the sea, a boat that floats home or does not.

The Witch's Life" When I was a child there was an old woman in our neighborhood whom we called The Witch. All day she peered from her second story window from behind the wrinkled curtains and sometimes she would open the window and yell: Get out of my life! She had hair like kelp and a voice like a boulder. I think of her sometimes now and wonder if I am becoming her.

The soul was not cured, it was as full as a clothes closet of dresses that did not fit.

We talked death with burned-up intensity, both of us drawn to it like moths to an electric light bulb. Sucking on it!