When I Work I Have A Sculptor's

He Speaks In Your Voice, American, And There's A Shine In His Eye That's Halfway Hopeful.

In These Night Recitations We Create A Space Between Things As We Felt Them At The Time And As We Speak Them Now. This Is The Space Reserved For Irony, Sympathy And Fond Amusement, The Means By Which We Rescue Ourselves From The Past.

All Plots Tend To Move Deathward. This Is The Nature Of Plots.

Digital Clocks Took The 'space' Out Of Time.

Let's Enjoy The Aimless Days While We Still Can.