Please, God, Send Me Something To Adore.

What Do You Do When You're No Longer The Hero Of Your Own Story?

But There Are Still The Hours, Aren't There? One And Then Another, And You Get Through That One And Then, My God, There's Another.

A Stray Fact: Insects Are Not Drawn To Candle Flames, They Are Drawn To The Light On The Far Side Of The Flame, They Go Into The Flame And Sizzle To Nothingness Because They're So Eager To Get To The Light On The Other Side.

On A Summer Night It Can Be Lovely To Sit Around Outside With Friends After Dinner And, Yes, Read Poetry To Each Other. Keats And Yeats Will Never Let You Down, But It's Differently Exciting To Read The Work Of Poets Who Are Still Walking Around Out There.

There's Just This For Consolation: An Hour Here Or There When Our Lives Seem, Against All Odds And Expectations, To Burst Open And Give Us Everything We've Ever Imagined.