I take this for myself, and you take up the thread of my life between your teeth, tin thread and tarnished with abuse, you shall still hear as long as the beast in me maintains its taciturn power to close my lids in tears, and my loins move yet in the ennobling pursuit of all the worlds you have left me alone in, and would be the dolorous distraction from, while you summon your army of anguishes which is a million hooting blood vessels on the eyes and in the ears at that instant before death.

There is a geography which holds its hands just so far from the breast and pushes you away, crying so.

And don't worry about your lineage poetic or natural.

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

Mothers of America / let your kids go to the movies!

I have, for my own projected works and ideas, only the silliest and dewiest of hopes; no matter what, I am romantic enough or sentimental enough to wish to contribute something to life's fabric, to the world's beauty.... [S]imply to live does not justify existence, for life is a mere gesture on the surface of the earth, and death a return to that from which we had never been wholly separated; but oh to leave a trace, no matter how faint, of that brief gesture! For someone, some day, may find it beautiful!

But it is good to be several floors up in the dead of night wondering whether you are any good or not and the only decision you can make is that you did it.