I've Tried To Become Someone Else For

I Think Because My Parents Died In Their Early 50s, Mid 50s, I Always Thought I Would Die Young. And That's Been Both A Useful Thing And I Suspect Something That's Haunted Me A Little Bit.

Isn't There A Curious Elegance In How One Moment Passes Into Another?

I’ve Had It With All Stingy-hearted Sons Of Bitches. A Heart Is To Be Spent.

The World Is Always Somewhat Vicious. I Take That As A Given, But At Various Times In Various Circumstances That Fact Will Be No More Than A Shadow Or An Echo Behind Some Poem. Other Times It Will Be More Manifest. I Try To Write Myself Into Articulations Of Half-felt, Half-known Feelings, Without Program. I'm Always Working Toward Getting My World And, Hopefully, The World Outside Of Me Into A Version That Makes Sense Of It. Viciousness Requires The Same Precision As Love Does.

Now And Again I Feel The Astonishment Of Being Alive Like This, In This Body.