I Have Never Known A Cat That

There Is No Other Way To Find Ourselves But In Each Others Faces.

I Cannot Speculate On What Our Cluttered Mind Will Save- Sleepy Sundays, Or A Nosebleed After Love. I Know Only The Dying Heart Needs The Nourishment Of Memory To Live Beyond Too Many Winters.

We Will All Wake Up Semi-angels, If We Wake At All.

I Chose The Shadows; They Did Not Choose Me. I Stay Here Securely Not Just Because I Feel Plain, But Because Disappearance Is By Now The Easy Way. The Habit. The Worn Path That I Can Trod Knowingly And Be Assured Safe Passage Home.

I Am Not A Joiner. Somewhere I Once Said That People Join Clubs Now For The Very Reason They Once Carried Them, A Need For Security. Maybe I'm Alone More Often Than I Should Be, Because I Try To Find Security Within Myself.