this is the air i breathe

if you rearrange the letters in "pisces", you get "pieces". of course, you have to add an "e", which works for me. barry is a pisces, and he is always there to pick up the pieces. parts of me that have fallen off, come unglued, arms and legs scattered all over the world. exfoliated brain matter that no longer matters, charred heart parts: my life frayed out on the beach at pataya, played out on the beach at pataya, bitter bangkok burning, ft. meade yearning, unreality unravelling at the seems (sic), fraudently held together by scores of scars, plastered with prozac and simple cymbalta. dangerous territory, that, yet onward he goes on a daily basis, with no armour, seulement amour, places where no man has gone before, where no man should go, but he does,which is incomprehensible to me that someone would be that tenacious. and what does he derive from his industry? more of the same --dust and detritus, debris from past lives dredged up from deep within my aching soul, a well-spring of heartache and despair. i despair of ever getting there, yet forward i trudge, with this God-given appendage always at my side, without whom i would never take another sane breath.