Veils Of Love Which Was Only Hate

...grandpa's Mind Had Left Us, Gone Wild And Wary. When I Walked With Him I Could Feel How Strange It Was. His Thoughts Swam Between Us, Hidden Under Rocks, Disappearing In Weeds, And I Was Fishing For Them, Dangling My Own Words Like Baits And Lures.

If, As I Suspect, My Body Survives By Uttering Itself Over And Over Again, Then I Have Some Questions. If [i] Am One Word, So Are My Daughters, So Are All Of Us In Strings And Loops. Each Life Is One Short Word Slowly Uttered.

A Woman's Body Is The Gate To This Life. A Man's Body Is The Gate To The Next Life.

To Think About Love And Passion And Political Correctness All Together, It Doesn't Work. Art Has To Go Way Past The Political To Be Effective.

Every So Often Something Shatters Like Ice And We Are In The River Of Our Existence. We Are Aware.