My Noisy Denunciation Trails Off In Doubt.

Rereading, We Find A New Book.

If I Could Do My Life Over, I Would Try To Cleanse At Least My Pleasures Of Self-pity.

When Love Ends, The Beloved Is No Longer Standing On A Pedestal, But In A Hole.

Documents Create A Paper Reality We Call Proof.

Thinking About The Universe Has Now Been Handed Over To Specialists. The Rest Of Us Merely Read About It.