Is Where You're From The

Even When I Look Straight Into The Milky Blue Eyes I Can't Find Myself Any More. When Did I Stop Being Me?

... A Gaggle Of Old Ladies Is Glued To The Window At The End Of The Hall Like Children Or Jailbirds. They're Spidery And Frail, Their Hair As Fine As Mist. Most Of Them Are A Good Decade Younger Than Me, And This Astounds Me. Even As Your Body Betrays You, Your Mind Denies It.--there Are Five Of Them Now, White Headed Old Things Huddled Together And Pointing Crooked Fingers At The Glass.

Even As Your Body Betrays You, Your Mind Denies It.

They Grew Fat And Happy--the Horses, Not The Children, Or Marlena For That Matter.

I Tend Not To Think About The Reading Public At All, Or The Business, When I'm Writing.