It's not only the word roses lurking inside neurosis or the fact that most of my formal education occurred in the midwest, so too my summer job inhaling industrial reactants should be considered. It's an unstable world, babe. Always an inner avalanche as they say in receiving. I'm sure if I'd gotten a shot of Karl instead of Zeppo Marx in utero, things would have turned out differently. Instead, my mother went right on eating lobster. But where were we? . . .
Dean Young - 1955-
When I saw you ahead I ran two blocks shouting your name then realizing it wasn’t you but some alarmed pretender, I went on running, shouting now into the sky, continuing your fame and luster. Since I've been incinerated, I've oft returned to this thought, that all things loved are pursued and never caught, even as you slept beside me you were flying off. At least what's never had can’t be lost, the sieve of self stuck with just some larger chunks, jawbone, wedding ring, a single repeated dream, a lullaby in every elegy, descriptions of the sea written in the desert, your broken umbrella, me claiming I could fix it.