When I walk alone and by myself for a day or two or perhaps a minute, nothing makes sense and everything does, and I want to write without words and love myself while hating me, too, and prove to you the world is ours or maybe just yours when all is paved in pain like some puzzle missing pieces vital. But only when I walk alone.
When I have to be with you for an entire day or a few minutes, it all makes sense and it doesn't and I want to talk in silence and be your friend and maybe more and prove virility while wrestling the lions or just by simply holding you when the tears fall from your eyes like the blood from one thousand wounds but only when I have to be with you.
D. Conors c. 26 July 1988
"Pieces Vital" was my first ever officially published work. I still have the publisher's proof in my files.