I’ll Always Deny That I Kissed Her.

And The Words We Find Are Always Insufficient, Like Love, Though They Are Often Lovely And All We Have.

Originality, Of Course, Is What Occurs When Something New Arises Out Of What's Already Been Done.

Altruism Is For Those Who Can't Endure Their Desires. There's A World As Ambiguous As A Moan, A Pleasure Moan Our Earnest Neighbors Might Think A Crime. It's Where We Could Live. I'll Say I Love You, Which Will Lead, Of Course, To Disappointment, But Those Words Unsaid Poison Every Next Moment. I Will Try To Disappoint You Better Than Anyone Else Has. --mon Semblable

The World Is Always Somewhat Vicious. I Take That As A Given, But At Various Times In Various Circumstances That Fact Will Be No More Than A Shadow Or An Echo Behind Some Poem. Other Times It Will Be More Manifest. I Try To Write Myself Into Articulations Of Half-felt, Half-known Feelings, Without Program. I'm Always Working Toward Getting My World And, Hopefully, The World Outside Of Me Into A Version That Makes Sense Of It. Viciousness Requires The Same Precision As Love Does.

I’ll Always Deny That I Kissed Her. I Was Just Whispering Into Her Mouth.