The sky leans on me, me, the one upright among all horizontals.

I collected men with interesting names. I already knew a Socrates. He was tall and ugly and intellectual and the son of some big Greek movie producer in Hollywood, but also a Catholic, which ruined it for both of us.

As a poet, one lives a bit on air. I always like someone who can teach me something practical.

I felt the mask crumple, the great poisonous store of corrosive ashes begin to spew out of my mouth.

Do we always grind through the present, doomed to throw a gold haze of fond retrospect over the past?

I felt the first man I slept with must be intelligent, so I could respect him.

The blood of love welled up in my heart with a slow pain.