My Dreams Are A Stupid Refuge, Like

Wasting Time Has An Esthetics To It.

Friends: Not One. Just A Few Acquaintances Who Imagine They Feel Something For Me And Who Might Be Sorry If A Train Ran Over Me And The Funeral Was On A Rainy Day.

My Soul's The Present Shadow Of A Presence Gone.

To Know How To Think With Emotions And To Feel With Intellect.

...the Painful Intensity Of My Sensations, Even When They're Happy Ones; The Blissful Intensity Of My Sensations, Even When They're Sad.