my boys & I refused to believe it was Michael who didn’t make it through the night even though the cameras strewn across the sky showed the mansion lawn specked with red sirens & from my own covers I imagined him to be simply asleep the way I slept 

No lie!
Need input!
Not ghosting you!

Don’t worry.
We have armies
of showrunners

The first ending. And knowing it would end
I wanted another. Lover, summer,
pen with which to write it all down.

I entered timidly: there was an ostrich that was losing its feathers, and, on a pedestal of white stucco, a bronze bird whose plumage was represented by a series of engraved shells. Mr. Abel Hermant or someone like Mr. Abel Hermant appeared as soon as the vestibule was opened.

Once there was a locomotive so good that it stopped to let pedestrians pass. One day an automobile bumped over its tracks. The engineer whispered into the ear of his steed: “Shouldn’t we take it to law?” “It is young,” said the locomotive, “it doesn’t know.” It contented itself with spitting a little disdainful steam on the out-of-breath “sportsman.” 

“One never bathes twice in the same stream,” the philosopher Heraclitus used to say. However, the same people always turn up again! They go by, at the same time, gay or sad. You, passers-by in Ravignan Street, I have given you the names of Historical Defuncts! 

Black! Black!
A driven man!
Black! Black!

Mr. Yousouf forgot his umbrella
Mr. Yousouf lost his umbrella
Madame Yousouf, someone stole her umbrella

And what did you see, sequoia-quiet, looking out at black 
night. No islands, no kings or corridors of fury. 
But the districts where we were born, a few icy stars,