My goal is to stay safely in between self-analysis and self-destruction.

Because maybe, the best of times were yet to come. You never knew.

Forgetfulness in people might wound, their ingratitude corrode, but this voice, pouring endlessly, year in year out, would take whatever it might be; this vow; this van; this life; this procession, would wrap them all about and carry them on, as in the rough stream of a glacier the ice holds a splinter of bone, a blue petal, some oak trees, and rolls them on.

There&#39;s only a short walk from the hallelujah to the hoot.

Written By William Kennedy

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