Read Widely Of Others' Experiences, Even If

I Felt Overstuffed And Dull And Disappointed, The Way I Always Do The Day After Christmas.

Backward We Traveled To Reclaim The Day Before We Fell, Like Icarus, Undone; All We Find Are Altars In Decay And Profane Words Scrawled Black Across The Sun.

I Fancied You'd Return The Way You Said, But I Grow Old And I Forget Your Name. (i Think I Made You Up Inside My Head.)

And I Identify Too Closely With My Reading, With My Writing.

If You Dissect A Bird / To Diagram The Tongue, / You'll Cut The Chord / Articulating Song.