Even in my dreams I die.
"Send me your picture," he said, "so that I might remember what I never had."
I see her in my mind
but she is absent from my streets.
It is as though the world were empty
and life had not yet been invented.
I know what I desire but I no longer know how to obtain it.
The night is my only faithful mistress
She clothed his eyes with the curves of her flesh.
If I gave you an opening
would you enter?
Or the house of my being
not interest you?
True it is ramshackle
The foundation has cracks
and the attic is dusty and crowded,
spiderwebs in every corner
and whatever else lurking
in the shadows.
But the rest is well-worn
Not the latest fashion
but still functional
and you will find things,
and things that will blind you,
if you look.
I will leave the door open.
I will brew a rich brew
of my knowledge
you will add beauty
where it has been lacking.
"I’m always open to the right possibility," he said.
"Define right," she said.
The stimuli elicited response.
That my mind is a well does not mean I have well mind.
The problem with nostalgia is that the past is overrated. It was never as good as it seems now.
I am not a brand. I am a human being.
There was still the slimmest chance they would make love before the end of the world if he did not die first.
If human beings knew what they were doing, they wouldn’t be looking at their own extinction, or better yet, denying its immanence.
If I was worried about alienating you I would say nothing. You are free to shut me off.