There are no sides by which to stand. At one point I was a better person, so I am. Corwin: where is my suicide note? I ask from the shaking stick at moon rambling tremors. Remember that only poetry isn’t. Can someone help me climb out of this? Crusted flatware on my writing desk. Tony: I’ve never been afraid of you, just that you might be right. Or correct, rather: right from the right. The next time I see a mirror I’m going to break down. Every second is precipitous. Only in the last few days have senile-precocious thoughts sewn my disasters together. But communication isn’t allowed and tragedy does not exist. However, Madison saw through the farce. Perhaps if I ever edited anything. There is nothing worth working towards at this point. I want to break down and hold someone. I just want to hold someone or to be held. Corwin: where is that letter I wrote you? I love our truck stop memories and you too nameless. I’m so terribly sad. Is this the life I chose? I’m not going to lie: I have nothing to be sad for. Who followed me to the top rung? Corwin: I need those shoes back.