there is moss on the walls and the stain of thought and failure and waiting
the psyche has been burned and left us senseless, the world has been darker than lights-out in a closet full of hungry bats, and the whiskey and wine entered our veins when blood was too weak to carry on
It’s nice enough to make a man weep, but I don’t weep, do you?
But she projected vitality - you knew that she was there.
My body gnaws at me from one side and my spirit gnaws at me from the other.
I carry death in my left pocket. Sometimes I take it out and talk to it: "Hello, baby, how you doing? When you coming for me? I'll be ready.