By John Brehm Surfeit of distance and the wracked mind waiting,nipping at itself, snarling inwardly at strangers.If I had a car in this town I’drig it up with a rear bumper horn,something to blast back at the jackasseswho honk the second the light turns green.If you could gather up all the hornhonksof just one day in New York City,tie them together in a big brassy knothigh above the city and honkthem all at once it would shiverthe skyscrapers to nothingness, as ifthey were made of sand, and usherin the Second Coming. Christ would descendfrom the sky wincing with his fingersin his ears and judge us allinsane. Who’d want people like…

by James Fenton [For @ameliemx] This is where I came from.I passed this way.This should not be shamefulOr hard to say. A self is a self.It is not a screen.A person should respect What he has been. This is my past Which I shall not discard.This is the ideal.This is hard. – Posted from my iPhone