Many writing projects are the means by which we avoid writer's block. Mocked by young men who are not afraid of being aggressors and who find me problematic accordingly. A monkey tattoo on her shoulder, appearing to swing on her lime-green bra strap. So many reason to be happy! Walking around at dawn with a cup of coffee, watching the bruise-colored sky soften around Venus, mumbling the same old prayers. How as a child I knew the world in terms of disappointment and violence, and how I became predictably a certain man thereby. Afternoon coffee with a shot of whiskey, which nobody knows but Chrisoula. What else, what now, what next, what then. Basically never dating women who liked jewelry, a sorrow at a late date, as I love gazing at pretty things and choosing among them and giving gifts. Will you never go down on me? Dead mice, one of September's lesser charms. One more New England fall, one more winter, and then with God's grace a gentle glide into uninterruptable stillness. Wait for me? What we lose to know the world, and what we learn to forget love.
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