He wants to be ready for next time
There’s always something you haven’t thought of
It’s never a bad time to talk strategy
I never made an appointment with you
How long has it been since he’s had a normal workday?
Of course it’s a misunderstanding
He has no one to take care of and he can relax
This is how it has to be
And of course you’d have no answer
I’m here, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere
He tries not to make trouble
If he doesn’t leave right away he will be late for work
He stops walking and listens
Something about the absence of trees makes the light seem perfect
When he hasn’t slept well, he wants only a sugared muffin
The little trees out the window are bare
He won’t be able to fall back asleep
It’s still dark when the weeping erupts
Gone fishing
Realizing that life is short and brutal
Did he finish his beer? Can’t remember
I’d feel the other place running against the membrane of the world, almost touching it
Because it does make sense – only I don’t know how
She had looked right at me, but she had not seen me at all
I was stunned, so stunned that I couldn’t move
I believe I had a normal childhood
Big and heavy movements, but delicate, too, in all the subtle, reactive leaves
I loved the mysterious darkness of the trees
When I was a kid, I liked walking through neighborhoods alone
And Now for Something Completely Different …
He hates reading, but he is bright
I stopped and tried to get my breath
Every man has to find how to make his own way in this world
You’re going to be sorry one day
I was just thinking about getting me a tattoo like that
She couldn’t go back to that house, obviously
There was nothing I could offer
A blast of wind blowing through space, icy clean
The only outward sign of crisis was the fact that they were drinking sherry
I didn’t want there to be any silences out of which ugly truths might tumble
I can remember being flooded with happiness once
‘See! See!’ he says, and she does see
There’s something I want to be sure to show you
She has stared out of windows more
I suppose you’re quite a stranger to farm life
A bus would come eventually, and take them north
There are many things I remember of this time
The merry-go-round was slowing down
Or maybe I was seeing a little too clearly
It seemed as if the whole of the world was slowly being stripped of innocence
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