I Have No Preconceptions. Whatever I See,

My Flesh Winced, In Cowardice, From Such A Death.

With Me, The Present Is Forever, And Forever Is Always Shifting, Flowing, Melting. This Second Is Life. And When It Is Gone It Is Dead. But You Can't Start Over With Each New Second. You Have To Judge By What Is Dead. It's Like Quicksand... Hopeless From The Start.

Opinions Are Like Orgasms...mine Matters Most And I Really Don't Care If You Have One.

I Felt Overstuffed And Dull And Disappointed, The Way I Always Do The Day After Christmas.

It Won't Happen Yet, Ellen Mused, Mashing Cooked Carrots For Jill's Lunch. Breakups Seldom Do. It Will Unfold Slowly, One Little Tell-tale Symptom After Another Like Some Awful, Hellish Flower.