Staying Alive Was What We Did To

While Working In Advertising, I Channelled My Creative Energy Into Elaborate Escape Fantasies: Cake Making, Dog Breeding, The Peace Corps.

When You Read A Book, The Neurons In Your Brain Fire Overtime, Deciding What The Characters Are Wearing, How They're Standing, And What It Feels Like The First Time They Kiss. No One Shows You. The Words Make Suggestions. Your Brain Paints The Pictures.

Every War Has Turning Points And Every Person Too.

And Still The Brain Continues To Yearn, Continues To Burn, Foolishly, With Desire. My Old Man's Brain Is Mocked By A Body That Still Longs To Stretch In The Sun And Form A Beautiful Shape In Someone Else's Gaze, To Lie Under A Blue Sky And Dream Of Helpless, Selfless Love, To Behold Itself, Illuminated, In The Golden Light Of Another's Eyes.

I Can't Even Trust My Own Imaginary Dog. How Much Lower Can A Person Get?