I am aware that a computer can’t create a poem, but neither can a typewriter.

Great art is horseshit, buy tacos.

as the shadows assume shapes I fight the slow retreat now my once-promise dwindling dwindling now lighting new cigarettes pouring more drinks it has been a beautiful fight still is.

To be young is the only religion.

I want to let her know though that all the nights sleeping beside her even the useless arguments were things ever splendid and the hard words I ever feared to say can now be said: I love you.

places to hunt places to hide are getting harder to find, and pet canaries and goldfish too, did you notice that?

I'm going, she said. I love you but you're crazy, you're doomed.