He had no past and he certainly had no future. All the important events were ending shortly before they began. He says he told mama earth what he would not accept: and I keep thinking it had something to do with her world. Nights expanding into enormous parachutes of fire, his eyes were little more than mercury. Or sky-diving in the rain when there was obviously no land beneath, half-dead fish surfacing all over his body. He knew all this too well. And she who might at anytime be saying the word that would embrace all he had let go, he let go of course. I think the pain for him will end in May or January, though the weather is far too clear for me to think of anything but august comedy.