Poetry, plays and everything else.



Let me tell you how it all ended. Though it never really ended. No, but let me call it the end. Permit me to be arbitrary while I still have the opportunity, before my pencil runs away with me. But it may already be too late. Shall I call this the end? Shall I choose an ending before a beginning? I don’t know where I’m going and already I must have a destination. A goal and an instrument with which to take me there. Ah, to choose the proper instrument.  A pencil will not suffice. No, a pencil will not take me where I want to go. Bring in the heavy artillery. Bring in the catapults, the battering rams, the long bow and the missile. Nuclear annihilation. A dramatic denouement. Fireworks and explosives. Time and place will have no bearing. I will not be able to see the dimensions for the noise and for the blinding lights.

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