Under The Seams Runs The Pain.

Words Bounce. Words, If You Let Them, Will Do What They Want To Do And What They Have To Do.

Sometimes I Dream A Sentence And Write It Down. It’s Usually Nonsense, But Sometimes It Seems A Key To Another World.

Prowling The Meanings Of A Word, Prowling The History Of A Person, No Use Expecting A Flood Of Light. Human Words Have No Main Switch. But All Those Little Kidnaps In The Dark. And Then The Luminous, Big, Shivering, Discandied, Unrepentant, Barking Web Of Them That Hangs In Your Mind When You Turn Back To The Page You Were Trying To Translate.

You Can Never Know Enough, Never Work Enough, Never Use The Infinitives And Participles Oddly Enough, Never Impede The Movement Harshly Enough, Never Leave The Mind Quickly Enough.

You Can Get Used To Eating Breakfast With A Man In A Fedora. You Can Get Used To Anything, My Mother Was In The Habit Of Saying.