My life is a perfect Graveyard of Buried Hopes
There is no secret eagerness to be discovered-- no one can be independent of other people completely.
The arrogance of skyscrapers starving for something not glass and metal and concrete. I thought I could hear the lake muttering, "There is no place better to have the blues than Chicago."
A person made not of flesh but of little crystals of perfection she heard in her voice the echo of his Obi ocha. A clean heart.
Blue eyes as soft as the periwinkle the upper world has called but would give no help