Mild brown eyes beckon me to the past, but memory provides no clue.
New York loves itself in an unkind and fanatical way.
The psychiatrist's office: the only place I can be sure my story will be treated as sad, but interesting.
Mind and body obstruct one another's pleasures.
Arrogance rides triumphantly through the gates, barely glancing at the old woman about to cut the rope and spring shut the trap.
Dancers dance through their pain I shrink from mine.