Friday, December 3, 2010
They like you until they find out you’re into them. They’re all grown-up cave girls. Not that we’re different. Not that this business of “I’ve suffered more than you.” Ever will take off. The running theme is what is human greed’s relation to motion, or how long can you look into another person’s eyes. I bet the old New York School poets I love, I bet they know the exact pains. I peek at their papers, the trace of car caroming off, shhh, and take off. Shhh. I grow with nothing.