In a capitalistic society the losers slaved for the winners and you have to have more losers than winners.

I kept telling myself that all the women in the world weren´t whores, just mine.

I have a face like a washrag. I sing love songs and carry steel. I would rather die than cry. I can't stand hounds can't live without them. I hang my head against the white refrigerator and want to scream like the last weeping of life forever but I am bigger than the mountains.

I sit on the couch watching her arrange her long red hair before my bedroom mirror. she pulls her hair up and piles it on top of her head- she lets her eyes look at my eyes- then she drops her hair and lets it fall down in front of her face. we go to bed and I hold her speechlessly from the back my arm around her neck I touch her wrists and hands feel up to her elbows no further.

That's your response to everything: drink?" "No, that's my response to nothing.

Finally there is nothing here for death to take away.

there is moss on the walls and the stain of thought and failure and waiting