Watch out for intellect, because it knows so much it knows nothing and leaves you hanging upside down, mouthing knowledge as your heart falls out of your mouth.

Thief!- how did you crawl into, crawl down alone into the death I wanted so badly and for so long.

... and my love stays bitterly glowing, spasms of it will not sleep, and I am helpless and thirsty and need shade but there is no one to cover me- not even God.

All I am is the trick of words writing themselves.

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.

As a writer one has to take the chance on being a fool.

The snow has quietness in it; no songs, no smells, no shouts or traffic. When I speak my own voice shocks me.