It won't happen yet, Ellen mused, mashing cooked carrots for Jill's lunch. Breakups seldom do. It will unfold slowly, one little tell-tale symptom after another like some awful, hellish flower.

It won't happen yet, Ellen mused, mashing cooked carrots for Jill's lunch. Breakups seldom do. It will unfold slowly, one little tell-tale symptom after another like some awful, hellish flower.

As a poet I would say everything should be able to come into a poem but I can't put toothbrushes in a poem. I really can't.

I had removed my patent leather shoes after a while, for they foundered badly in the sand. It pleased me to think they would be perched there on the silver log, pointing out to sea, like a sort of soul-compass, after I was dead.

I like people, but to learn about one individual always appeals to me more than anything.

I am so hungry for a big smashing creative burgeoning burdened love.

We must be moving, working, making dreams to run toward; the poverty of life without dreams is too horrible to imagine.