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

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

All human desire is poised on an axis of paradox, absence and presence its poles, love and hate its motive energies.

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.

The beloved's innocence brutalizes the lover. As the singing of a mad person behind you on the train enrages you, its beautiful animal-like teeth shining amid black planes of paint. As Helen enrages history. Senza uscita.

Do you remember when they taught cursive in schools? I think they don't anymore. But I still enjoy it - just the physical act and all the - the whole business of making a thing out of language.

We are only midway through the central verse of our youth when we see ourselves begin to blacken. ... We had been seduced into thinking that we were immortal and suddenly the affair is over.