Death, I need my little addiction to you. I need that tiny voice who, even as I rise from the sea, all woman, all there, says kill me, kill me.

I am your dwarf. I am the enemy within. I am the boss of your dreams. See. Your hand shakes. It is not palsy or booze. It is your Doppelganger trying to get out. Beware...Beware...

Rats live on no evil star

When I'm writing, I know I'm doing the thing I was born to do.

Poetry is my life, my postmark, my hands, my kitchen, my face.

Only my books anoint me, and a few friends, those who reach into my veins.

I burn the way money burns.