That Love Which Does Not Build A

What Is It Precisely, That Feeling Of 'returning' From A Poem? Something Is Lighter, Softer, Larger - Then It Fades, But Never Completely.

The Cost Of Oblivious Daydreaming Was Always This Moment Of Return, The Realignment With What Had Been Before And Now Seemed A Little Worse.

No One Knows Anything, Really. It's All Rented, Or Borrowed.

It Is Not The First Duty Of The Novelist To Provide Blueprints For Insurrection, Or Uplifting Tales Of Successful Resistance For The Benefit Of The Opposition. The Naming Of What Is There Is What Is Important.

I Turned The Pages So Fast. And I Suppose I Was, In My Mindless Way, Looking For A Something, Version Of Myself, A Heroine I Could Slip Inside As One Might A Pair Of Favourite Shoes.