I'm Almost Completely Without Family And It's

Love, As The Poet Says, Is Like The Spring. It Grows On You And Seduces You Slowly And Gently, But It Holds Tight Like The Roots Of A Tree. You Don't Know Until You're Ready To Go That You Can't Move, That You Would Have To Mutilate Yourself In Order To Be Free. That's The Feeling. It Doesn't Last, At Least It Doesn't Have To. But It Holds On Like A Steel Claw In Your Chest. Even If The Tree Dies, The Roots Cling To You. I've Seen Men And Women Give Up Everything For Love That Once Was.

When You Deal With A Person Who's Experiencing Dementia, You Can See Where They're Struggling With Knowledge. You Can See What They Forget Completely, What They Forget But They Know What They Once Knew. You Can Tell How They're Trying To Remember.

Love Makes You Blind To Your Own Survival. And If It Doesn't Then It's Not Love At All.

Poetry Teaches Us Music, Metaphor, Condensation And Specificity.

I Would Have Been Completely Brainwashed By This Lopsided And Racist View Of The World If It Weren't For My Father. He Was A Deep Thinker And An Irrepressible Problem Solver. He Was A Black Socrates, Asking Why And Then Spoiling Ready-made Replies.