Waves, Sky, Trees, Essrog - I Was

It Was Often This Way, Life Consisted Of A Series Of False Beginnings, Bluff Declarations Of Arrival To Destinations Not Even Glimpsed.

What Age Is A Black Boy When He Learns He's Scary?

I Guess They Needed A Maze In Japan, Where Everything's Neat And Tidy. In America Everybody's Already Wandering Around Lost.

Insomnia Is A Variant Of Tourette's--the Waking Brain Races, Sampling The World After The World Has Turned Away, Touching It Everywhere, Refusing To Settle, To Join The Collective Nod. The Insomniac Brain Is A Sort Of Conspiracy Theorist As Well, Believing Too Much In Its Own Paranoiac Importance--as Though If It Were To Blink, Then Doze, The World Might Be Overrun By Some Encroaching Calamity, Which Its Obsessive Musings Are Somehow Fending Off.

In The Sea Of Words, The In Print Is Foam, Surf Bubbles Riding The Top. And It's A Dark Sea, And Deep, Where Divers Need Lights On Their Helmets And Would Perish At The Lower Depths.