Show Him Every Dawn & Read To

So We Found The End Of Our Journey. So We Stood, Alive In The River Of Light, Among The Creatures Of Light, Creatures Of Light.

And As If Reporting Some Felony To The Police They Let You Know You Were Not John Donne.

The Progress Of Any Writer Is Marked By Those Moments When He Manages To Outwit His Own Inner Police System.

The Sea Cries With Its Meaningless Voice, Treating Alike Its Dead And Its Living

With A Sudden Sharp Hot Stink Of Fox, It Enters The Dark Hole Of The Head. The Window Is Starless Still; The Clock Ticks, The Page Is Printed.