I’m listening to Beethoven’s Diabelli Variations on a windy November day when the last leaves are falling from the trees.
Did the ghost trains come through already?
All of a sudden he checks himself as if he’d said too much.
I wanted to buy flowers yesterday but didn’t.
When sighted people talk about blind certainty I wonder what they’re talking about.
About my other side, it has a lonesome house.
Everywhere, directions, possibilities, but still rain at the windows.
Where else would I walk?
I don’t like your smile sir.
Up river where they eat song birds.
I’ll lend my heart to you but only to make you hear.
Autumn, more ancient than my recklessness….
Planet of the Blind 