6 November 2012 My friends live in words and some are ones I’ve met and some I’ve met when I’ve exposed their inner spines to light. Men and women friends, lovers and girlfriends. There are strangers here, whose words were striking and which I stole for my collection. Pain endorphins angst; vegetate, 12 hours scoundrel of scuffed-up wood, questioning in me the way to be or not permanence of language on printed plasticky paper on rolls in cell phone bodies, buzzing I read you under a bleached sky and wanted to write you, as you wrote to me drunk and tasting sweetness of being a breath in the night without name making errors living within our own gardens but sharing harvests to be enjoyed You become a freckle on my right pinkie and it’s okay, it’s part of our condition as writers to embrace, take what is as is as can be potential loveliness in uncertainty recalling what was as a layer under our skin and we have many layers time gives us material fuel breathe in...