We Are All Old-timers, Each Of Us

Talking About The Past Is Like A Cat's Trying To Explain Climbing Down A Ladder.

The Lord Survives The Rainbow Of His Will.

Everywhere, Giant Finned Cars Nose Forward Like Fish; A Savage Servility Slides By On Grease.

It's The Light Of The Oncoming Train.

Middle Age At Forty-five, What Next, What Next? At Every Corner, I Meet My Father, My Age, Still Alive.