What do we give them, elegant prose or a dripping Japanese ink pen, precious ink blots from a feathered instrument, how about Shakespeare or writing like Rembrandt paints, a masterpiece on canvas, a masterclass in Boxing, to write as such, a beautiful mosaic and patched art-work, praising stick-bugs that look like they are praying to God, mountains of poetic flames and cold lakes shivering with ice, Kafka, genius Kafka, and behold the master, the great Dostoevsky, my favorite and of course, Cormac, the wild blazing red-west and dark sunset limited, to write like a broken heart, our dearest Emmy, Emma, Mer de Noms, a sea of literary names, this little note is for you and you know who you are, you're a writer, an author, you can make thistle grow in a field of broken flowers and a clouded sky full of grace, these endless and unhappy tired moments that we share with one another, God bless you if you read this, thank you, and thank you for this day.
-e