Burn All The Maps To Your Body.

There Are Spiders Living Comfortably In My House While The Wind Howls Outside. They Aren't Bothering Anybody. If I Were A Fly, I'd Have Second Thoughts, But I'm Not, So I Don't.

I'm In A Constant Process Of Thinking About Things.

Finding Is Losing Something Else. I Think About, Perhaps Even Mourn, What I Lost To Find This

Like Some Kind Of Strange Vacuum Cleaner I Tried To Console Him. I Recited The Same Old Litanies That You Say To People When You Try To Help Their Broken Hearts, But Words Can't Help At All. It's Just The Sound Of Another Human Voice That Makes The Only Difference. There's Nothing You're Ever Going To Say That's Going To Make Anybody Happy When They're Feeling Shitty About Losing Somebody That They Love.

In A Cafe" I Watched A Man In A Cafe Fold A Slice Of Bread As If He Were Folding A Birth Certificate Or Looking At The Photograph Of A Dead Lover.