I am a mean hungry sorehead.Do I have the capacity for grace??To arise one smoking spring& find one's youth has taken off for greener parts.

It's so diffuse being alive. Suddenly one is aware that nobody really gives a damn.

but this also is part of my charm. A maudlin nostalgia that comes on like terrible thoughts about death.

All the lovely things I've known have disappeared. I have all my pubic hair & am lonely. There is probably no such place as Battle Creek, Michigan!