All the poems have wolves in them. All but one. The most beautiful one of all. She dances in a ring of fire and throws off the challenge with a shrug.

Out here on the perimeter there are no stars. Out here we is stoned. Immaculate.

I think in art, but especially in films, people are trying to confirm their own existences.

Give form to the passing World. Freeways are a drama.

Being drunk is a good disguise. I drink so I can talk to assholes. This includes me.

Getting drunk . . . you're in complete control up to a point. It's your choice, every time you take a sip. You have a lot of small choices. It's like . . . I guess it's the difference between suicide and slow capitulation . . .

Death Makes Angels of us all.