There Isn't Enough Of Anything As Long

My Life Is Going To Change. I Feel It.

You Have To Have Been In Love To Write Poetry.

When A Reader Finishes A Wonderful Story And Lays It Aside, He Should Have To Pause For A Minute And Collect Himself.

She Serves Me A Piece Of It A Few Minutes Out Of The Oven. A Little Steam Rises From The Slits On Top. Sugar And Spice - Cinnamon - Burned Into The Crust. But She's Wearing These Dark Glasses In The Kitchen At Ten O'clock In The Morning - Everything Nice - As She Watches Me Break Off A Piece, Bring It To My Mouth, And Blow On It. My Daughter's Kitchen, In Winter. I Fork The Pie In And Tell Myself To Stay Out Of It. She Says She Loves Him. No Way Could It Be Worse.

I Am Too Nervous To Eat Pie.