I, to you, am lost in the gorgeous errors of flesh.

I wish you’d find the exit out of my head.

Is there no way out of the mind?

It was sometime in October; she had long ago lost track of all the days and it really didn’t matter because one was like another and there were no nights to separate them because she never slept any more.

So I kiss him, and there is the great dark sea ahead.

Slowly, slowly, catch the monkey.

I laid my face to the smooth face of the marble and howled my loss into the cold salt rain.