dead pottery

"All language is but a poor translation.

"You know what charm is: a way of getting the answer yes without having asked any clear question.

"What’s the worst thing I’ve stolen? Probably little pieces of other people’s lives. Where I’ve either wasted their time or hurt them in some way. That’s the worst thing you can steal, the time of other people. You just can’t get that back."

In a field. With the moon. And the dark. And the dirt. With your mouth. And just one word: god god god.

I suppressed word after word from my vocabulary. When the massacre was over, only one had escaped: Solitude. I awakened euphoric.

This is the story of how I never stopped running. This is the story of how, when the wolves knocked, I met them at the door and I became the beast, instead.

"I breathed enough to learn the trick

"Beware of anything that you hear yourself saying often.

Where can you find a place to keep her, with all the huge strange thoughts inside you going and coming and often staying all night.

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.