I'm becoming the street. Who are you in love with? me? Straight against the light I cross.

The poem is at last between two persons instead of two pages. In all modesty, I confess that it may be the death of literature as we know it.

life perpetuated in parti-colored loves and beautiful lies all in different languages.

Pain always produces logic, which is very bad for you.

oh god it’s wonderful to get out of bed and drink too much coffee and smoke too many cigarettes and love you so much

I love you. I love you, but I’m turning to my verses and my heart is closing like a fist.

A man was the cause of it all. An unarmed man with a weapon.