For She Is My Love, And Other

When You Started Thinking It Was Easy, You Were Forgetting What It Cost.

A Cliche Is Like A Coin That Has Been Handled Too Much. Once Language Has Been Overly Handled, It No Longer Leaves A Clear Imprint.

They Dream Of Men With Gentle Hands, Eloquent With Tenderness, Fingers That Brushed Along A Cheek, That Outlined Open Lips In The Lovers' Braille. Hands That Sculpted Sweetness From Sullen Flesh, That Traced Breast And Ignited Hips, Opening, Kneading. Flesh Becomes Bread In The Heat Of Those Hands, Braided And Rising.

As An Artist, You Can Never Get What You Want. What You Do Never Approaches What You Want It To Be.

He Hated Crowds, Never Liked Punk. He Couldn't Handle The Nakedness Of The Rage -his Own So Sophisticated And Finely Tuned. He Could Never See The Similarity Between Himself And Donnie Draino Screaming Into A Mic.