Without You, Dearest Dearest I Couldn't See

I Don't Want To Live. I Want To Love First, And Live Incidentally.

Millie Beggs, By The Time She Was Forty-five, Had Become An Emotional Anarchist.

We Grew Up Founding Our Dreams On The Infinite Promise Of American Advertising.

The Sky Lay Over The City Like A Map Showing The Strata Of Things And The Big Full Moon Toppled Over In A Furrow Like The Abandoned Wheel Of A Gun Carriage On A Sunset Field Of Battle And The Shadows Walked Like Cats And I Looked Into The White And Ghostly Interior Of Things And Thought Of You And I Looked On Their Structural Outsides And Thought Of You And Was Lonesome.

I Take A Sun Bath And Listen To The Hours, Formulating, And Disintegrating Under The Pines, And Smell The Resiny Hardihood Of The High Noon Hours. The World Is Lost In A Blue Haze Of Distances, And The Immediate Sleeps In A Thin And Finite Sun.