We stayed at home to write, to consolidate our outstretched selves.

I am inhabited by a cry. Nightly it flaps out Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.

Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.

Why do we electrocute men for murdering an individual and then pin a purple heart on them for mass slaughter of someone arbitrarily labeled “enemy?

I am still raw. I say I may be back. You know what lies are for. Even in your Zen heaven we shan't meet.

A terrible depression yesterday. Visions of my life petering out into a kind of soft-brained stupor from lack of use.

So much working, reading, thinking, living to do! A lifetime is not long enough.