M Train

by Patti Smith

Here is joy and neglect. A little mescal. A little jacking off, but mostly just work. —This is how I live, I am thinking.

May the world’s small things fill her with delight.

And then there is the type wherein the writer seems to infuse living energy into words as the reader is spun, wrung, and hung out to dry. Devastating books.

Whatever I found to be good I would preserve, and transform what was not. —I already love you, I told the house.

The transformation of the heart is a wondrous thing, no matter how you land there.

Nothing can be truly replicated. Not a love, not a jewel, not a single line.