That i am one person, that i will live and die alone, that i will only ever inhabit this one consciousness. I was wrong about this too. To read this poem was to be in conversation with a level deeper than who we are, where we are and what our homely words and thoughts and deeds and lives dont mean. Still, enduring merit, until this summer did i even believe in it . Did i simply believe enduring merit could never be agreed upon, that all things are relative and, therefore, can not be said to have merit and their endurance cannot be predicted . If so, i no longer believe it or even remember believing it. These five radioactive books glowed green and dustless among the others. If they are not still read in 100 years, it will mean the cockroaches only survived whatever happened to vegas. There is always more mystery in a closed box than in an opened box. Nope. When it comes to a box full of poetry, that is not true. Over the summer those boxes turned into a room full of books full of poetr
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