I Think Of The Chimp, The One

In My Head There's A Broken Balcony I Fall Off Of When I Speak.

The Worst Of It Is Over Now, And I Can't Say That I Am Glad. Lose That Sense Of Loss--you Have Gone And Lost Something Else.

When My Mother Died, My Father's Early Widowhood Gave Him Social Cachet He Would Not Have Had If They Had Divorced. He Was A Bigger Catch For The Sorrow Attached.

I Know When A Story Is Finished When There Is Not A Single Thing More I Can Think To Do To It. And Since I Know At The Start What The Last Line Will Be, I Know When I've Reached That Point As Logically As I Can That It's Finished. As For The Rewriting-it's Not Foolproof, Of Course, But If You're Honest About Having Thought Of Every Possibility And You Still Come Back To What You Have, What More Can You Do?

Look At Me. My Concerns-are They Spiritual, Do You Think, Or Carnal? Come On. We've Read Our Shakespeare.