in this room the hours of love still make shadows.

terror finally becomes almost bearable but never quite terror creeps like a cat crawls like a cat across my mind

Goodness can be found sometimes in the middle of hell.

It was like a church in there as only the truly lost sit in bars on Tuesday mornings at 8:00 a.m.

they thought I had guts they were wrong I was only frightened of more important things

I can't think of any poet-recluses outside of one dead Jeffers. [Robinson Jeffers] The rest of them want to slobber over each other and hug each other. It appears to me that I am the last of the poet-recluses.

nobody can save you but yourself and you’re worth saving. it’s a war not easily won but if anything is worth winning then this is it.