We are using our own skins for wallpaper and we cannot win.

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so. After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns, we ourselves flash and yearn

I think that what happens in my poetic work in the future will depend on my being knocked in the face, and thrown flat, and given cancer, and all kinds of other things short of senile dementia.

That is our ‘pointed task. Love & die.

These Songs are not meant to be understood, you understand. They are only meant to terrify & comfort.

I cry. Evil dissolves, & love, like foam; that love. Prattle of children powers me home, my heart claps like the swan's under a frenzy of who love me & who shine.

Wishin' was dyin' but I gotta make it all this way to that bed on these feet.