2004-07-20  - I'm back to the life that I lived a summer ago. The work is a little less strenuous, but nonetheless, it seems to take everything out of me. Then it seems all I want to do is to be with this girl--and let my aching body rot itself back into the earth. To let my bones become flannel, red, mixing with the blanket beneath, in which I rolled you like a burrito. Is this another summer? Is this summer just like the last? previous  next  older entries