Wait for tonight's cowardly hour.
The dishwasher dings from ten hours to one, ten hours to one and back again.
You don't deserve a dishwasher.
Tonight's cowardly hour from four to five, or five to six, hip bones soldering shut.
You'll need a hip replacement, one day.
Hour grows longer each night of the month, two days to six days to twenty or more.
What were your grandfathers really like.
Jim Heinze who used these words and sat in a vast leather chair, Republican, "vote Jim,"
awake long nights and beloved, but who, to you.
Nineteen fifty nineteen eighty five nineteen I don't know.
Cowardly hour for lovers, too.
What was it you said once and why did you do what you did or always do.
Count down and back up and you'll never work again.
One beautiful night in Manhattan on a weeknight seeking strangers relived, relived.
Cowards are righteous and angry, too.
How does anyone raise a child, how did your mother, who was that strange family
somehow watching you.
Where is all the money.
Tonight's cowardly hour.
Argument.
Thesis.
Failure.
Love.
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