“ Messy, isn't it? ”
all of us have a place in history. mine is clouds.
~ Richard Brautigan
I’ll affect you slowlyas if you were having a picnic in a dream. There will be no ants.It won’t rain.
Hinged to forgetfulness like a door,she slowly closed out of sight,and she was the woman I loved,but too many times she slept likea mechanical deer in my caresses,and I ached in the metal silenceof her dreams.
Our names were made for us in another century.
