I Didnt Finish The Stories Until We

They Needed To Share One Secret After Another With A Beautiful Woman, To Peel Away Layer After Layer, Mask After Mask, And Still Find Themselves Worshiped.

I'd Been Staying At The Holiday Inn With My Girlfriend, Honestly The Most Beautiful Woman I'd Ever Known, For Three Days Under A Phony Name, Shooting Heroin. We Made Love In The Bed, Ate Steaks At The Restaurant, Shot Up In The John, Puked, Cried, Accused One Another, Begged Of One Another, Forgave, Promised, And Carried One Another To Heaven.

That World! These Days It's All Been Erased And They've Rolled It Up Like A Scroll And Put It Away Somewhere. Yes, I Can Touch It With My Fingers. But Where Is It?

All His Life Robert Grainier Would Remember Vividly The Burned Valley At Sundown, The Most Dreamlike Business He’d Ever Witnessed Waking—the Brilliant Pastels Of The Last Light Overhead, Some Clouds High And White, Catching Daylight From Beyond The Valley, Others Ribbed And Gray And Pink, The Lowest Of Them Rubbing The Peaks Of Bussard And Queen Mountains; And Beneath This Wondrous Sky The Black Valley, Utterly Still, The Train Moving Through It Making A Great Noise But Unable To Wake This Dead World.

After The Film It Was Raining, A Light Steady Rain. Ruthless Neon On The Wet Streets Like Busted Candy.