When Asked, 'how Do You Write?' I

The Look Of The Sky As The Day's Blue Blood Runs Out Of Its Cheek.

The Sun Was A Molten Coin Burning A Circle In The Low-hanging Overcast, Surrounded By A Fairy-ring Of Moisture.

They Walked Back Into The World Together, Wearing The Gift That Had Been Given Them: Just Life. Pity Was Not Love, Barbie Reflected...but If You Were A Child, Giving Clothes To Someone Who Was Naked Had To Be A Step In The Right Direction.

She Had Never Dreamed There Could Be So Much Pain In A Life When There Was Nothing Physically Wrong. She Hurt All The Time.

At Nineteen, It Seems To Me, One Has A Right To Be Arrogant; Time Has Usually Not Begun Its Stealthy And Rotten Subtractions. It Takes Away Your Hair And Your Jump-shot, According To A Popular Country Song, But In Truth It Takes Away A Lot More Than That.