The Bees In My Stomach Are Dead

I'll Think About Things For Thirty Or Forty Years Before I'll Write It.

Hinged To Forgetfulness Like A Door, She Slowly Closed Out Of Sight, And She Was The Woman I Loved, But Too Many Times She Slept Like A Mechanical Deer In My Caresses, And I Ached In The Metal Silence Of Her Dreams.

I Had Become So Quiet And So Small In The Grass By The Pond That I Was Barely Noticeable, Hardly There... I Sat There Watching Their Living Room Shining Out Of The Dark Beside The Pond. It Looked Like A Fairy Tale Functioning Happily In The Post-world War Ii Gothic Of America Before Television Crippled The Imagination Of America And Turned People Indoors And Away From Living Out Their Own Fantasies With Dignity... Anyway, I Just Kept Getting Smaller And Smaller Beside The Pond, More And More Unnoticed In The Darkening Summer Grass Until I Disappeared Into The 32 Years That Have Passed Since Then.

I Fished Upstream Coming Ever Closer And Closer To The Narrow Staircase Of The Canyon. Then I Went Up Into It As If I Were Entering A Department Store. I Caught Three Trout In The Lost And Found Department.

It's Strange How The Simple Things In Life Go On While We Become More Difficult.