Like a thick bird gone up so high not caring how far or how solid the ground. Piece of cake.
Then upended. Tendencies. He had. Them tromped.
I’m following a famous pianist through his tunnels toward an uncertain conclusion. She knows.
The woman is an unfortunate metaphor. For an uncertain conclusion.
One work then another and so on forms a pattern in time and points in space. The work fits there.
No escape from telling, but no fresh news gets past the wall. Old man.
The way (is not worth) (is worth) the weariness. Harsh call.