Even in my melancholy, we are one.
The guitar sits sad and fotlorn beside my dressing table…
Like wind over fields and Saryu
I feel a vicarious joy as any novel reaches resolution.
We are a sum of our wants.
I killed some words and let them to rest in the crevices on walls of my mind.
You’re nothing. You’re everything.
When the rats are away the dog will play
Girl,woman, other takes me to the voices that rumble on and on throughout the exuberant book.
There’s only as much one can do before the day’s begun