411. So true. Nothing compares. No drug no drink no too-soon or too-late over-think. Sometimes a darkened theater might edge close teasing out of time for a while, and certainly, always, magic sex knows I threw my watch a-way-back-when, long ago, into a ditch of a dirt road framed on either side by fair fields of maize, maybes, deserted toy telephones, plastic swords and shields of gray. Oh say you see, on with the show, on with alarm clock rabies and the get up to go-go mouth-foam spitting up in the sink all the stories an abandoned baby grows, all the poems a found man made round yearling cattle grazing...