As I Kissed Her The Heat Of

Most Fatal Diseases Had Their Own Specific Odor, But ... None Was As Specific As Old Age.

He Dared To Explore Her Withered Neck W/his Fingertips…her Hips W/their Decaying Bones, Her Thighs With Their Aging Veins.

Just As Real Events Are Forgotten, Some That Never Were Can Be In Our Memories As If They Happened.

The More Transparent The Writing, The More Visible The Poetry.

My Most Important Problem Was Destroying The Lines Of Demarcation That Separate What Seems Real From What Seems Fantastic.