Her Sunny Side Was Always Up.

The Bookstore Was A Parking Lot For Used Graveyards. Thousands Of Graveyards Were Parked In Rows Like Cars. Most Of The Books Were Out Of Print, And No One Wanted To Read Them Any More And The People Who Had Read The Books Had Died Or Forgotten About Them, But Through The Organic Process Of Music The Books Had Become Virgins Again.

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.

Burn All The Maps To Your Body. I'm Not Here Of My Own Choosing.

I Had Become So Quiet And So Small In The Grass By The Pond That I Was Barely Noticeable, Hardly There... I Sat There Watching Their Living Room Shining Out Of The Dark Beside The Pond. It Looked Like A Fairy Tale Functioning Happily In The Post-world War Ii Gothic Of America Before Television Crippled The Imagination Of America And Turned People Indoors And Away From Living Out Their Own Fantasies With Dignity... Anyway, I Just Kept Getting Smaller And Smaller Beside The Pond, More And More Unnoticed In The Darkening Summer Grass Until I Disappeared Into The 32 Years That Have Passed Since Then.

Excuse Me, I Said. I Thought You Were A Trout Stream. I'm Not, She Said.