When I begin to doubt my ability to work the word, I simply read another writer and know I have nothing to worry about. My contest is only with myself, to do it right, with power, and force, and delight, and gamble.
Maybe when I get in the grave, things will be beautiful.
Love dries up, I thought as I walked back to the bathroom, even faster than sperm.
one more creature dizzy with love
I am a poem. There is no way out.
as a child i suppose i was not quite normal. my happiest times were when i was left alone in the house on a saturday.