Well, one gets out of bed and the planets don't always hiss or muck up the day, each day.

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

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.

The man inside of woman ties a knot so that they will never again be separate.

But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. Twice I have so simply declared myself, have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy, have taken on his craft, his magic.

Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.

It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was.