Evil's Just Destructive? Then Storms Are Evil,

Funerals Often Make Us Want Sex-it's One In The Eye For Death.

Back At His Chair He Cannot Remember What He Was Reading. He Feels The Books Beside Him To Find The One That Is Warm.

We Rarely Get To Prepare Ourselves In Meadows Or On Graveled Walks; We Do It On Short Notice In Places Without Windows, Hospital Corridors, Rooms Like This Lounge With Its Cracked Plastic Sofa And Cinzano Ashtrays, Where The Cafe Curtains Cover Blank Concrete. In Rooms Like This, With So Little Time, We Prepare Our Gestures, Get Them By Heart So We Can Do Them When We're Frightened In The Face Of Doom.

I Have No Interest In Understanding Sheep, Only Eating Them.

You Know How Cats Do. They Hide To Die. Dogs Come Home.