Vertixe

The long walks I take at night. Sometimes I stand for hours at a single place, without hardly moving. (I’ve had the wind stop in my hand.)

I will wade out till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers. I will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air, alive, with closed eyes.

Why is it that words like these seem to me so dull and cold? Is it because there is no word tender enough to be your name?

He asked, ‘What makes a writer?’ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘it’s simple. You either get it down on paper, or jump off a bridge.’

While Obama led relief efforts in the East Coast, Romney faked a relief event in Ohio. It’s like a Dad fixing stuff around the house & a child with a plastic toolbox pretending to help.

The sun stopped shining for me is all. The whole story is: I am sad. I am sad all the time and the sadness is so heavy that I can’t get away from it. Not ever.

Sometimes, when I find it hard to sleep, I’ll think of when we first met, of the newness of each other’s body, and my impatience to know everything about this person. Looking back, I should have taken it more slowly, measured him out over the course of fifty years, rather than cramming him in so quickly.

Sometimes I touch the things you used to touch, looking for echoes of your fingers.