This poem is called Never Again the Same.

Speaking of sunsets, last night's was shocking.

I mean, sunsets aren't supposed to frighten you, are they?

Well, this one was terrifying.

People were screaming in the streets.

Sure, it was beautiful, but far too beautiful.

It wasn't natural.

One climax followed another and then another until your knees went weak and you couldn't breathe.

The colors were definitely not of this world.

Peaches dripping opium, pandemonium of

tangerines, inferno of irises, plutonian emeralds, all swirling and churning,

swabbing, like it was playing with us, like we were nothing. As if our whole lives were a preparation for this,

this for which nothing could have prepared us and for which we could not have been less prepared.

The mockery of it all stung us bitterly, and when it was finally over, we whimpered and cried and howled.

And then the streetlights came on as always, and we looked into one another's eyes,

ancient caves with still pools, and those little transparent fish who have never seen even one ray of light.

And the calm that returned to us was not even our own.

Hello, friends.

This is against everyone with Connor Abe.

That was the late great poet, also a friend of mine, James Tate.

And I love that poem, never again the same, because it reflects how beautiful being

terrified can be and how terrifying seeing the beautiful can be. This is something that I think

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