This morning I'm struggling with the best possible way to tie back my hair. The perfect outfit. Anything to reduce this driving residual pain shooting out from my left ear and down my neck and throat. I'd write a poem about the way the pain represents all the delicate and sad ways I'm losing you. If I didn't think that sounded so god damned idiotic and tired. I think pain makes me angry. Right now I'm listening to Damien. The disc I bought when I went to see him in some small bar in Chicago and no one knew his name. Or mine for that matter. Drinking hot tea and milk. Honey. If I wrote poetry. I'd write the right words like a secret all over my body and make you read it with the tips of your fingers.