I Am Still Alive Then. That May

That's The Mistake I Made, One Of The Mistakes, To Have Wanted A Story For Myself, Whereas Life Alone Is Enough.

Let's Go." "we Can't." "why Not?" "we're Waiting For Godot.

Go On Failing. Go On. Only Next Time, Try To Fail Better.

Words And Images Run Riot In My Head, Pursuing, Flying, Clashing, Merging, Endlessly. But Beyond This Tumult There Is A Great Calm, And A Great Indifference, Never Really To Be Troubled By Anything Again.

All Poetry, As Discriminated From The Various Paradigms Of Prosody, Is Prayer.