Memoirs of a Life Unlived

You ask if I have faith and I witter on - a hundred hundred turns and words to admire but the truth is I don't know. I'm not aware of faith in the everyday. Without belief could I have endured us? Hope against all odds, does that count? Need, dependence, fear to be alone, your hair against my face? Faith's reserved for the God fearing; I'm too frothy, too free from insight for that. (March '96)

(written late 80s/early 90s) I should like to be remembered by millions after I die; my name mass produced, desktop published, plastered up on the walls of laboratories and schools. Not for me the frugal plaque, vague recollection, cobwebbed room made famous by tenuous association. Boxed, numbered, suffixed in Latin, I'd survey students  learning me by rote. It would be perfect. Without the e I should look a little internal; with, I should promote phonetic debate: Col(e)ium - The Difficult Element.

I will always have the wayward heart and the tear in my soul which runs along the seam but will not be ripped apart.                                     I will always circumvent the path and the mesh of fine parts which makes you how you are but will not reveal your truth.                                                                            I will always be the purest youth in the midst of the old which darkens every dream with that huge descending roof.