No matter, then, that strength is fed to fire or dream to waking. The harshness of day and death cannot escape the traces of my passing. I was the dream. I took wing. Music Along Life s Road Life is the uncertainty of the inevitable, terrible cry.
Moments come muffled, masked, marked by the drummer s funereal cadence.
The first blunder into light was slapped, and pierced skin and air with the reddening gasp and wail that felt too clearly all the steps beat, beating ahead. All roads lead to tears. Day by day by day by must must must the moments mount the terror. There are no intersections, only corners. No flutes, just drums.