Untitled - July 14, 2001

It is with great irony
that almost a year to the date
of the first time...

There is no rest for the weary,
there is no rest for the wicked,
it is an unending struggle for
internal peace.

The moment
that I hear her voice -
it is a grating harshness
that booms.

An endless struggle for silence

An endless struggle for solitude
that protects me
from the torrent of words.

Who I am,
what I wear,
when will I die?