exile's letter

seems extremely hard these days to get my points across to anyone--esp. to certain instructors of different disciplines. either i am faulted and way less than i take myself to be, or i truly am genuinely wrong. anywho this lady assumed today that i was--you know what, forget it. good things happen as well: for the second time in my life today someone who saw my pound only the table actually knew who he was. been spending hours and hours with him--pound that is--and been revisiting some of the older stuff:

And if you ask how I regret that parting;
It is like the flowers falling at Spring's end
Confused, whirled in a tangle.
What is the use of talking, and there is no end in talking,
There is no end of things in the heart.

E.P