Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance. |
Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance. |
Since you ask, most days I cannot remember. I walk in my clothing, unmarked by that voyage. Then the almost unnameable lust returns. |
The beautiful feeling after writing a poem is on the whole better even than after sex, and that's saying a lot. |
The joy that isn't shared dies young. |
The sea is mother-death and she is a mighty female, the one who wins, the one who sucks us all up. |