Writing Is All In The Head.
I did not want to leave. When I got on the plane home from Kenya, I did not cry tears of sadness for leaving ...
John Giorno - The Death of William Burroughs.
The night after eclipse, a pastel moon’s a notch away from round.
I am trying to write, but the words are breaking open my pen and leaking into my soul.
They have spent over fifty years together and they still hold hands wherever they go.
It didn’t matter what made me laugh, all that would matter was that I laughed as I would with a good friend.