It's Just That The Grape Has Me

Great Books Are The Ones We Need

I Will Remember The Kisses Our Lips Raw With Love And How You Gave Me Everything You Had And How I Offered You What Was Left Of Me, And I Will Remember Your Small Room The Feel Of You The Light In The Window Your Records Your Books Our Morning Coffee Our Noons Our Nights Our Bodies Spilled Together Sleeping The Tiny Flowing Currents Immediate And Forever Your Leg My Leg Your Arm My Arm Your Smile And The Warmth Of You Who Made Me Laugh Again.

They Have No Idea That It Can Be Done By A Bus Driver, A Field Hand, Or A Fry Cook. They Have No Idea Where It Comes From. It Comes From Pain, Damnation And Impossibility. The Blow To The Soul Of The Gut. It Comes From Getting Burned And Seared And Slugged. It Comes From...new And Awful Places And The Same Old Places.

I Read My Books At Night, Like That, Under The Quilt With The Overheated Reading Lamp. Reading All Those Good Lines While Suffocating. It Was Magic.

Basically, That's Why I Wrote: To Save My Ass, To Save My Ass From The Madhouse, From The Streets, From Myself.