. . . what a sillie world we live in
input into output - this process
i call writing has warped my mind
to seeing a possibility only God
could have developed: when i
first met him - in his blue jetta
it struck me as I followed in my
car that it had your name and now
come to find out hundreds of miles
away his home will be on a street
with your name - and you and him
are a hop and skip away from each
other: my tasks keep me where i am
and so when we die and i get to slap
you again i hope you can understand
why beloved
