There's Always Been Anger In The Making

Water Is The Exile, Carried Back In Cans And Flasks, The Ghost Between Your Hands And Your Mouth.

Over The Years, Confusing Fragments, Lost Corners Of Stories, Have A Clearer Meaning When Seen In A New Light, A Different Place.

Sleep Is A Prison For A Boy Who Has Friends To Meet.

Everything Is Biographical, Lucian Freud Says. What We Make, Why It Is Made, How We Draw A Dog, Who It Is We Are Drawn To, Why We Cannot Forget. Everything Is Collage, Even Genetics. There Is The Hidden Presence Of Others In Us, Even Those We Have Known Briefly. We Contain Them For The Rest Of Our Lives, At Every Border We Cross.

She Moved From Being A Young Woman Into Having The Angular Look Of A Queen, Someone Who Has Made Her Face With Her Desire To Be A Certain Kind Of Person. He Still Likes That About Her. Her Smartness, The Fact That She Did Not Inherit That Look Or That Beauty, But It Was Something Searched For And That It Will Always Reflect A Present Stage Of Her Character.