The Mind Was Dreaming. The World Was

Unlike The Novel, A Short Story May Be, For All Purposes, Essential.

Many Of The Characters Are Fools And They're Always Playing Tricks On Me And Treating Me Badly.

My Friends Tell Me That I Am An Intruder, That I Don't Really Write When I Attempt Poetry. But Those Of My Friends Who Write In Prose Say That I'm No Writer When I Attempt Prose. So Really I Don't Know What To Do, I'm In A Quandary.

I Would Rather Like To Think Of God As Being A Kind Of Adventurer - Even As Wells Thought About Him - Or Perhaps As Something Within Us Making For Some Unknown Purpose.

We Have Shared Out, Like Thieves, The Amazing Treasures Of Days And Nights.