I, to you, am lost in the gorgeous errors of flesh.

And what is happy? It is a going always on. There is something better to be done than I have done, and spurred by the fair delusion of progress, I will seek to progress, to whip myself on, to more and more- to learning. Always.

She stared at her reflection in the glossed shop windows as if to make sure, moment by moment, that she continued to exist.

Hour by hour, day by day, life becomes possible.

The claw of the magnolia, drunk on its own scents, asks nothing of life.

Backward we traveled to reclaim the day Before we fell, like Icarus, undone; All we find are altars in decay And profane words scrawled black across the sun.

If I was going to fall, I would hang on to my small comforts, at least, for as long as I possibly could.