How can you be so many women to so many strange people, oh you strange girl?
There is nothing like puking with somebody to make you into old friends.
When I fell out of the light, I entered The stomach of indifference, the wordless cupboard.
The woman is perfected. Her dead Body wears the smile of accomplishment.
If I rest, if I think inward, I go mad.
Poetry, I feel, is a tyrannical discipline. You've got to go so far, so fast, in such a small space, that you've got to burn away all the peripherals.