or, Who wants to join me for Not Enough Sleep:
the Sequel?
I don't understand the glibness
with which people fling their otherwise lives
about. I don't want to understand
the angle at which I attempt to fail. Again
The
essence of fear is rancid. That's
A flock of swallows diverges, veers, converges,
lands. I wish I could tell you
Confidence
and power stink too, a foetid pull
How blue how pale how blue, and underneath
Your
participation is, in the long run, irrelevant to
Your
infinite self is tangled. Oh ouch
How
misguided. How truculent. How blasé. Yes,
"distinguished." Insert—don't drink the
candle or, if you must
The
essence, the sharpness is not the point. Neither is circulation. Neither is
fairness
The point is this: We all want to be the good guy. None of us
This
perilous decree (is that your shoulder that is so cold?
None of us can anticipate (or
Still, I
like to pretend to be as mean as I really am
(Still, I like to pretend
