Gasping For Breath, The Body Still Battling

I Loved Her Enough To Forget Myself, My Self Pitying Despairs, And Be Content That Something She Thought Happy Was Going To Happen.

If You Happen To Capture My Imagination For Some Reason And I Decide To Write About You And You Don't Like What I Wrote About You, Which Is Entirely Possible, Then Yes, I'm A Dangerous Writer.

I Love New York, Even Though It Isn't Mine, The Way Something Has To Be, A Tree Or A Street Or A House, Something, Anyway, That Belongs To Me Because I Belong To It.

We All, Sometimes, Leave Each Other There Under The Skies, And We Never Understand Why.

Technically I Feel Total Fluidity In Writing. I Feel There's Nothing Technically That I Can't Do The Way A Certain Sort Of Pianist Feels That. But That Doesn't Mean It Comes Easily. It Doesn't.