Uncertainty is the path I travel the path to freedom. Uncertainty is the horse I ride that gallops through the field of all

is usually most comfortable with books. He likes to climb around words, up and down letters like a child in a jungle-gym. He is familiar with

A man with his wife away does the alone things without guilt; perhaps he walks about the town for hours or lies in the sun all

The hour of repose. The steaks and potatoes, the chicken noodle soups, the pizzas and cold glasses of milks quietly turning into my

Tongue of mine, night bird, fly to the day\'s almost-women, the saplings of womanhood, the ones alone now, sleeping barely in dreams. Rest

and then there\'s what you feel while you do it and then there are the words that come later to describe, recreate, narrate it-- all at a third