When We Don't Get The Results We

But The Grind Has Begun. The Windows Don’t Open, And Even The Availability Of Near-constant Jokes About Jews And Mormons Fails To Stem The Tide Of Frustration, Decay. We’ve Reached The End Of Pure Inspiration, And Are Now Somewhere Else, Something Implying Routine, Or Doing Something Because People Expect Us To Do It, Going Somewhere Each Day Because We Went There The Day Before, Saying Things Because We Have Said Them Before, And This Seems Like The Work Of A Different Sort Of Animal, Contrary To Our Plan, And This Is Very Very Bad.

We Are All Feeding From Each Other, All The Time, Every Day.

But What I Really Want Is To Just Swim Around In A Warm Baby Pool Of These Friends, Jump In Their Dry Leaf Pile-to Rub Them All Over Myself, Without Words And Clothes.

Humans Are Divided Between Those Who Can Still Look Through The Eyes Of Youth And Those Who Cannot. Though It Causes Me Frequent Pain, I Find It Very Easy To Place Myself In The Shoes Of Almost Any Boy, And Can Conjure My Own Youth With An Ease That Is Troublesome.

Through The Small Tall Bathroom Window The December Yard Is Gray And Scratchy, The Tree Calligraphic.