O Love, Where Are You Leading Me

I Heard Words And Words Full Of Holes Aching.

Writing Is The Same As Music. It’s In How You Phrase It, How You Hold Back The Note, Bend It, Shape It, Then Release It. And What You Don’t Play Is As Important As What You Do Say.

Oh Well, I Will Say Here, Knowing Each Man, Let You Find A Good Wife Too, And Love Her As Hard As You Can.

I Know This Body Is Impatient. I Know I Constitute Only A Meager Voice And Mind. Yet I Loved, I Love. I Want No Sentimentality. I Want No More Than Home.

No Matter How Wild Reality Was Obviously Often Being, It Was An Absolutely Secure Place, As A Tone And Intelligence, And A Thing Happening.