Life Is Hell, But At Least There

I Had A Cousin Once Who Lived In Your Dictionary, Inside The Binding, And There Was A Tiny Hole Which He Used For A Door, And It Led Out Between Trichotomy And Trick. Now What Do You Think Of That? It Was Only A Few Minutes Walk To Trigger, Then Over The Page To Trinity, Trinket And Trional, And There My Cousin Used To Fall Asleep.

She Grew More And More Silent About What Really Mattered. She Curled Inside Herself Like One Of Those Black Chimney Brushes, The Little Shellfish You See On The Beach, And You Touch Them, And Then Go Inside And Don’t Come Out.

For In Spite Of The Snapdragons And The Duty Millers And The Cherry Blossoms, It Was Always Winter.

Everything Is Always A Story, But The Loveliest Ones Are Those That Get Written And Are Not Torn Up And Are Taken To A Friend As Payment For Listening, For Putting A Wise Keyhole To The Ear Of My Mind

I Must Go Down To The Seas Again To Find Where I Buried The Hatchet With Yesterday.