What We Fear We Often Rage Against.

We're All Strange Inside. We Learn How To Disguise Our Differences As We Grow Up.

But The Only Rhyme He Could Summon For 'out' Was 'sauerkraut,' Which Lacked Poetic Glory. He Let It Go. The Right Line Would Come In Time. That Was The Thing About Poetry. It Crept Up Through The Draws And Coulees Of The Brain.

And It May Be That Love Sometimes Occurs Without Pain Or Misery.

Change Itself Is What Fascinates Me. I Am Drawn, As A Moth To The Flame, By Edge Situations, By Situations Of Metamorphosis.

I Wish I Knew How To Quit You.