Sometimes the soul takes pictures of things it has wished for, but never seen.

Let God be some tribal female who is known but forbidden.

Writers are such phonies: they sometimes have wise insights but they don't live by them at all. That's what writers are like...you think they know something, but usually they are just messes.

Need is not quite belief.

The body is a damn hard thing to kill.

Now I am going back And I have ripped my hand From your hand as I said I would And I have made it this far.

And the aura of you remains, remains, remains...