You can't throw away years of your life because it makes a funny anecdote.
I was kind of lost for several years.
One discovers a friend by chance, and cannot but feel regret that 20 or 30 years of life may have been spent without the least knowledge of him.
And our lips. There isn't enough skin, enough spit, enough time, for the lost years that our lips are trying to make up for as they find each other. We kiss. The electric current switches to high. The lights throughout all of Brooklyn must be surging.
To be honest, I don't remember what happened in '95, '96 and '97. It was hard years. My memory is deleting.
My twenties were the worst period of my life.
So in the heart, When, fading slowly down the past, Fond memories depart, And each that leaves it seems the last; Long after all the rest are flown, Returns a solitary tone,— The after-echo of departed years,— And touches all the soul to tears.
Youth is a wonderful thing. What a crime to waste it on children.
If you were Jesus with missing years to kill where would you go?
As far as the world was concerned, from 1979 to 1996, I didn't publish any original material; it just wasn't there.
Long hours trail in their purple and long years are lost in just this moment while our souls are near, our mouths separate.
