I Think A Playwright Realizes After He

The Question Of Dying Becomes A Wise Reminder. It Cures Us Of Our Innocence Of The Future.

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

One Truth Is The Swing Of The Sentence, The Beat And Poise, But Down Deeper It's The Integrity Of The Writer As He Matches With The Language.

There Are Dead Stars That Still Shine Because Their Light Is Trapped In Time. Where Do I Stand In This Light, Which Does Not Strictly Exist? (155)

It's All About Time, Dimwit Time, Inferior Time, People Checking Watches And Other Devices, Other Reminders. This Is Time Draining Out Of Our Lives. Cities Were Built To Measure Time, To Remove Time From Nature. There's An Endless Counting Down, He Said. When You Strip Away Surfaces, When You See Into It, What's Left Is Terror. This Is The Thing That Literature Was Meant To Cure. The Epic Poem, The Bedtime Story.