New York Is Something Awful, Something Monstrous.

The Mirror Is The Mother Dew, The Book Of Desiccated Twilights, Echo Become Flesh.

What Matters Most Has An Ultimate Metallic Quality Of Death. The Chasuble And The Wagon Wheel, The Razor And The Prickly Beards Of Shepherds, The Bare Moon, A Fly, Humid Cupboards, Rubble Piles, The Images Of Saints Covered In Lace, Quicklime, And The Wounding Edges Of The Rooflines And Watchtowers.

To Burn With Desire And Keep Quiet About It Is The Greatest Punishment We Can Bring On Ourselves.

Seville Is A Tower Full Of Fine Archers.... Under The Arch Of The Sky, Across The Clear Plain, She Shoots The Constant Arrow Of Her River.

Relish The Fresh Landscape Of My Wound, Break Rushes And Delicate Rivulets, Drink Blood Poured On Honeyed Thigh.