In a corner sat a man. His gentle ways afforded him the privacy that he desired more than anything else in the world.

Time bomb.

Robert lights his soul on fire. I have to wonder as I replace my eyes with the mechanical ones I got at the store, if he was ever really there.

Who shot?

What.

A million different dreams raining on a million different pains.

I am succinct.

Shadow me.

Swallowed the pill and she never woke up. Did she see them too?

I can't change, all I can do is create.

I'm not a man, I'm an artist.

This is my howl, I'm sorry it couldn't be . . .

Tell them.

De

Gone for now. Finish later. Publish two weeks from now. Hit the streets. Tell them who you are. That you are significant. That you're the best thing that ever happened to them. That those were not images but incarcerated truths and that you've been crying for seven days because they wouldn't listen to an image. That the image didn't come off of the wall and slap them like you had planned. That you had an arrangement to think for them but that that arrangement did not go as planned and now you have a new plan. A complex and convoluted plan. But you forgot it because you were talking to the eyeball sales rep in your dreams and these new eyes could create miracles, just not the kind you're used to reading about.

When I was.