Good Days, They Come Around The Oddest

You Cannot Read Any Image Of The World Trade Center Without Thinking Of 9/11.

Long Ago, Long Ago. The Simple Things Come Back To Us. They Rest For A Moment By Our Ribcages Then Suddenly Reach In And Twist Our Hearts A Notch Backward.

This Is Not My Life. These Are Not My Cobwebs. This Is Not The Darkness I Was Designed For.

The Job Of The Writer Is To Look At Where He Is Now And Make Some Sort Of Emotional Sense Of It, Not Only For That Moment But For Years To Come.

We Shape Ourselves By Our Imaginative Reach.