I have been having these dreams
We don't know how or when the body surrenders
It is neither good nor bad
Grass remains or grass comes back
I want to kick a dog. or hand out tickets
Starchy nurses taking the air
A park full of Thai servants, their voices like insects
It is contradictions like these
I would sit in amber bars and imagine women
Blind sailors, blind acrobats
It's not you, it's what you write
A man called Archangel
We have stumbled into carnage
Dying right now would be ludicrous
In the not too distant future
I wonder, at that last moment, what I will think of
It is probably better with a parachute
Something to nibble on
It is simply how dying works
I would ride from town to town and talk to writers
The day of paper
We must praise as much as we can
Don't teach the computers too much
They have made a folding plug, we are on our way
She is like an old library. I borrow parts of her and look inside
The day I became invisible
I cannot find my scales. How heavy am I?
We could have sex or kill each other. We toss a coin.
I would try to forget I once had this
Returning to myself after an absence
We must pretend the bad things did not happen
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