For Love - I Would Split Open

O Love, Where Are You Leading Me Now?

I Don’t Think Any Man Writing Can Worry About What The Act Of Writing Costs Him, Even Though At Times He Is Very Aware Of It.

I Know This Body Is Impatient. I Know I Constitute Only A Meager Voice And Mind. Yet I Loved, I Love. I Want No Sentimentality. I Want No More Than Home.

No Matter How Wild Reality Was Obviously Often Being, It Was An Absolutely Secure Place, As A Tone And Intelligence, And A Thing Happening.

Suddenly The Whole Imagination Of Writing And Editorial And Newspaper And All These Presumptions About Who Am I Reading This, And Who Else Other People May Be, And All That, It's So Grimly Brutal!