Will Occur As Time Grows More Open

Things Can Harden Meaningfully In The Moment Of Indecision

Alone With Our Madness And Favorite Flower We See That There Really Is Nothing Left To Write About. Or Rather, It Is Necessary To Write About The Same Old Things In The Same Way, Repeating The Same Things Over And Over For Love To Continue And Be Gradually Different.

I Feel That Poetry Is Going On All The Time Inside, An Underground Stream.

What Is The Past, What Is It All For? A Mental Sandwich?

And So We Turn The Page Over. To Think Of Starting. This Is All There Is.