People Have Thoughts They’d Sooner Not Have.

Sometimes Our Connection Is Frayed, It Is In Danger, It Seems Almost Lost. Views And Streets Deny Knowledge Of Us, The Air Grows Thin. Wouldn't We Rather Have A Destiny To Submit To, Than, Something That Claims Us, Anything, Instead Of Such Flimsy Choices, Arbitrary Days?

It Must Have Meant Something, Though, That At This Turn Of My Life I Grabbed Up A Book. Because It Was In Books That I Would Find, For The Next Few Years, My Lovers. They Were Men, Not Boys. They Were Self-possessed And Sardonic, With A Ferocious Streak In Them, Reserves Of Gloom.

You Want In All Cases For The Story To Get Through The Writing.

The Thing Is To Be Happy, No Matter What. Just Try That. You Can. It Gets To Be Easier And Easier. It's Nothing To Do With Circumstances. You Wouldn't Believe How Good It Is. Accept Everything And Then Tragedy Disappears. Or Tragedy Lightens, Anyway, You're Just There, Going Along Easy In The World.

Who Can Ever Say The Perfect Thing To The Poet About His Poetry?