That Ideal Reader Suffering From An Ideal

My Words In Her Mind: Cold Polished Stones Sinking Through A Quagmire.

History, Stephen Said, Is A Nightmare From Which I Am Trying To Awake.

Broken Heart. A Pump After All, Pumping Thousands Of Gallons Of Blood Every Day. One Fine Day It Gets Bunged Up And There You Are... Old Rusty Pumps: Damn The Thing Else. The Resurrection And The Life. Once You Are Dead You Are Dead.

In Woman's Womb Word Is Made Flesh But In The Spirit Of The Maker All Flesh That Passes Becomes The Word That Shall Not Pass Away. This Is The Postcreation.

Ineluctable Modality Of The Visible; At Least That If No More, Thought Through My Eyes. Signatures Of All Things I Am Here To Read.