When Disaster Waves, I Try Not To

Love Talks And Talks. Lust Is Brief And To The Point.

At Sixty, I Would Like To Give My Future Back Its Vistas Of Uncertainty.

Middle Age Went By While I Was Mourning For My Lost Youth.

The Writer Is Always Courted By Invitations From The All-too- Familiar.

Electricity, Water, Gas, And Steam Course Through The Walls Of My Building, Keeping It Alive.