With me, the present is forever, and forever is always shifting, flowing, melting. This second is life. And when it is gone it is dead. But you can't start over with each new second. You have to judge by what is dead. It's like quicksand... hopeless from the start.

I want to become acutely aware of all I've taken for granted.

But writing poems and letters doesn't seem to do much good.

Beached under the spumy blooms, we lie Sea-sick and fever-dry.

So learn about life. Cut yourself a big slice with the silver server, a big slice of pie. Open your eyes. Let life happen.

You smile. No, it is not fatal.

If you dissect a bird / to diagram the tongue, / you'll cut the chord / articulating song.