If Only I Knew What I Wanted

I'm Happier Writing About Doctors Than I Would Have Been Being One.

Love Is The Bone And Sinew Of My Curse.

Is It The Sea You Hear In Me? Its Dissatisfactions? Or The Voice Of Nothing, That Was Your Madness? Love Is A Shadow. How You Lie And Cry After It.

O Heart, Such Disorganization!

And When At Last You Find Someone To Whom You Feel You Can Pour Out Your Soul, You Stop In Shock At The Words You Utter— They Are So Rusty, So Ugly, So Meaningless And Feeble From Being Kept In The Small Cramped Dark Inside You So Long.