I Roll Onto My Side And Stare

I Had My Whole Life Planned.. I Knew Exactly Where It Was Taking Me.

He Stares At Me, And Then Leans Back In His Chair. "he's Ill, Jacob." I Say Nothing. "he's A Paragon Schnitzophonic." "he's What?!" "paragon Schnitzophonic," Repeats Uncle Al. "you Mean Paranoid Schizophrenic?" "sure. Whatever. But The Bottom Line Is He's Mad As A Hatter.

...poking A Lump Of Red Jello That Jiggles Outrageously, Like A Breast I Once Knew.

Even As Your Body Betrays You, Your Mind Denies It.

So What If I'm Ninety-three? So What If I'm Ancient And Cranky And My Body's A Wreck? If They're Willing To Accept Me And My Guilty Conscience, Why The Hell Shouldn't I Run Away With The Circus?