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Things I tend to think about, like minarets and thunderclouds, and who will be the last person
to play the French Horn.

Why do cats need so much sleep? And what's so bad on up the creek? And why did you cry when we kissed?

So many things I miss. Two eyes and all the senses, but still no sign of bliss.

So many things I wish I had, but don't need that badly.

I pick my daughter up from school. I tend to hope and pray she thinks I'm cool. I wish I'd told my dad I think he's cool.

It's not so much that I'm afraid, just terrified that I'll fade away—that my whole life's been covered by a lampshade.

And if I were a lightbulb, I'd probably rather not have a lampshade at all.

And if I were a lightbulb, I'd very much like to be indoors and near a favorite sitting place of yours.

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