There is a charge For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge For the hearing of my heart - It really goes. And there is a charge, a very large charge, For a word or a touch Or a bit of blood Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.

I cut you out because I couldn't stand being a passing fancy.

I am not cruel, only truthful.

She stared at her reflection in the glossed shop windows as if to make sure, moment by moment, that she continued to exist.

Beached under the spumy blooms, we lie Sea-sick and fever-dry.

I may never be happy, but tonight I am content. At times like this I'd call myself a fool to ask for more.

Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams.