Fear / a motor, / pumps me around and around / until I fade slowly.

The trouble with therapy is that it makes life go backwards.

It would be pleasant to be drunk.

I am alone here in my own mind. There is no map and there is no road. It is one of a kind just as yours is.

You lay, a small knuckle on my white bed; lay, that fist like a snail, small and strong at my breast. Your lips are animals; you are fed with love. At first, hunger is not wrong.

Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there; something worth learning in that narrow diary of my mind

I must always forget how one word is able to pick out another, to manner another, until I have got something I might have said... but did not.