The Usual Dog About The Town Is

It Takes So Many Years To Learn That One Is Dead.

In Spite Of All The Dishonour, The Broken Standards, The Broken Lives, The Broken Faith In One Place Or Another, There Was Something Left That Was More Than The Tales Of Old Men On Winter Evenings.

Of Lovers Whose Bodies Smell Of Each Other Who Think The Same Thoughts Without Need Of Speech

Each Way Means Loneliness -- And Communion.

Because I Know That Time Is Always Time And Place Is Always And Only Place.