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cedar trees bleached like whale bones on the beach after a hurricane a few summers ago when I drove down south by myself at the end of August just to think things over enter the heart from the outside like opening the screen door to an old house in the country on a summer night thick with gnats and stars can I survive myself reduce my capacity for lying to others which seems inexhaustible even thinking about teaching again going back into a high school makes me start to panic but if my book doesn’t sell or I don’t finish it that’s inevitably what’ll happen I don’t think anyone from my generation feels sincere or like an adult we’re all imposters from the suburbs masquerading as artists
