On the one side there were those who claimed that love, if it be allowed bat all, must be kept tame by marriage vows and family ties so that its fiery heat warms the hearth but does not burn down the...
Her favourite song was 'God Has Blotted Them Out,' which was meant to be about sins, but really was about anyone who had ever annoyed her, which was everyone. She just didn't like anyone and she just...
Christmas is about community, collaboration, celebration. Done right, Christmas can be an antidote to the Me First mentality that has rebranded capitalism as neo-liberalism. The shopping mall isn't ou...
And so, from the first, we separated our pleasure. She lay on the rug and I lay at right angles to her so that only our lips might meet. Kissing in this way is the strangest of distractions. The greed...
It could be that this record set before you now is a fiction.
The continuous narrative of existence is a lie. There is no continuous narrative, there are lit-up moments, and the rest is dark.
Do you wake up as I do, having forgotten what it is that hurts or where, until you move? There is a second of consciousness that is clean again. A second that is you, without memory or experience, the...
Walls protect and walls limit. It is in the nature of walls that they should fall. That walls should fall is the consequence of blowing your own trumpet.
She is like a mathematical equation, always there and impossible to disprove.
It never happened, but that doesn't mean it wasn't there to happen. All of that has been a brutal lesson to me in not overlooking or misunderstanding what is actually there, in your hands, now. We alw...
I could see in her a piece of the bright hope I once had in myself and it made me sour and angry. It made me feel sorry for her too. I wanted to take both her hands in mine, look her in the eye, and l...
Hopeless heart that thrives on paradox; that longs for the beloved and is secretly relieved when the beloved is not there.
As your lover describes you, so you are.
If I can't stay where I am, and I can't, then I will put all that I can into the going.
Perché la perdita si misura con l'amore?
Look up. This is the season of shooting stars. Light, two thousand years old, still dazzling. Let me see your face. Your face lit up by twenty centuries.
I wasn’t reading poetry because my aim was to work my way through English Literature in Prose A–Z.But this was different.I read [in, by T.S. Eliot]: I started to cry.(…)The unfamiliar and beautiful p...
I seem to have run in a great circle, and met myself again on the starting line.
I came to this city to escape.
Darkness as well as light. Or do I mean darkness, another kind of light? Lucifer would say so, and I have a weakness for fallen angels.