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….