Every night of me is still walks upon the moon for men my father’s age or older.
Talents at light in dark, the only lights on screen in all that awful darkness, is awesome,
because the notepad starts and ends white, makes no plural pleasants or two very same sadnesses.
Should I unplug and stop because a writer ends upon the moon? But there are reaches back to ages as far as other ages go. To them we have no Civil War, no Vietnam, we couldn’t know it if it were a dog that bit you in the ass every day, into night, appears upon the courses of the goal at final targetness. Each night falls upon them.
I am not a Vietnam again, but I have claim and my preparation for my age and they can see that light in dark, the only lights on screen in all that awful darkness home, is awesome.