The gray glaze of the past attacks all know-how...
Reading is a pleasure, but to finish reading, to come to the blank space at the end, is also a pleasure.
And so we turn the page over. To think of starting. This is all there is.
In the increasingly convincing darkness The words become palpable, like a fruit That is too beautiful to eat.
Not until it starts to stink does the inevitable happen.
I'm heading for a clean-named place like Wisconsin, and mad as a jack-o'-lantern, will get there without help and nosy proclivities.