Now every mortal has pain and sweat is constant, but if there is anything dearer than being alive, it's dark to me. We humans seem disastrously in love with this thing (whatever it is) that glitters on the earth-- we call it life. We know no other. The underworld's a blank and all the rest just fantasy.

Consider incompleteness as a verb.

Meanwhile music pounded / across hearts opening every valve to the desperate drama of being / a self in a song.

What is the fear inside language? No accident of the body can make it stop burning.

Myths are stories about people who become too big for their lives temporarily, so that they crash into other lives or brush against gods. In crisis their souls are visible.

Could you visit me in dreams? That would cheer me. Sweet to see friends in the night, however short the time.

Comfortable means gradually more and more flattened down, more and more blunt - less and less sharp and biting into you.