I Was Only Photographing In Words The

I Held Her Wrists And Then I Got It Through The Eyes: Hatred, Centuries Deep And True. I Was Wrong And Graceless And Sick. All The Things I Had Learned Had Been Wasted. There Was No Creature Living As Foul As I And All My Poems Were False.

Some Moments Are Nice, Some Are Nicer, Some Are Even Worth Writing About.

No Matter How Little A Man Has He Will Find That He Will Always Settle For Less.

There Is A Loneliness In This World So Great That You Can See It In The Slow Movement Of The Hands Of A Clock

We Waste Days Like Mad Blackbirds And Pray For Alcoholic Nightsour Silk-sick Human Smiles Wrap Around Us Like Somebody Else's Confetti