Each night about this time he puts on sadness like a garment and goes on writing.
Sometimes a journey makes itself necessary.
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.
When I desire you a part of me is gone.
I never had much education in English poetry as such.
It is easier to tell a story of how people wound one another than of what binds them together.