We Are All Burning In Time, But

To Hear The Faint Sound Of Oars In The Silence As A Rowboat Comes Slowly Out And Then Goes Back Is Truly Worth All The Years Of Sorrow That Are To Come.

The Heart Lies To Itself Because It Must.

How Astonishing It Is That Language Can Almost Mean, And Frightening That It Does Not Quite.

Duende I Can't Remember Her Name. It's Not As Though I've Been In Bed With That Many Women. The Truth Is I Can't Even Remember Her Face. I Kind Of Know How Strong Her Thighs Were, And Her Beauty. But What I Won't Forget Is The Way She Tore Open The Barbecued Chicken With Her Hands, And Wiped The Grease On Her Breasts.

We Are Surrounded By The Absurd Excess Of The Universe. By Meaningless Bulk, Vastness Without Size, Power Without Consequence. The Stubborn Iteration That Is Present Without Being Felt. Nothing The Spirit Can Marry. Merely Phenomenon And Its Physics. An Endless, Endless Of Going On. No Habitat Where The Brain Can Recognize Itself. No Pertinence For The Heart. Helpless Duplication.