How Often Do We Do That, He

Stopping Is A Spiritual Art. It Is The Refuge Where We Drink Life In.

To Remain Silent In The Face Of Evil Is Itself A Form Of Evil.

The Redness Had Seeped From The Day And Night Was Arranging Herself Around Us. Cooling Things Down, Staining And Dyeing The Evening Purple And Blue Black.

Loss Takes Up Inside Of Everything Sooner Or Later And Eats Right Through It.

All That Paddling Around In The Alphabet Soup Of One's Childhood, Scooping Up Letters, Hoping To Arrange Them Into Enlightening Sentences That Would Explain Why Things Had Turned Out The Way They Had. It Evoked A Certain Mutiny In Me.