The Abyss Is Full Of Reality, The

I Hate Two Kinds Of Sentences You Hear In Workshops, The Ones Beginning "i Really Like ..." And The Ones Beginning "my Problem With This Poem Is ..."

We Can’t Always Tell The Whole Story About Ourselves.

Memories Assailed Him Of How Gently She Had Spoken, Touched, And Moved; Of How She'd Loved Him Fiercely Despite His Mistakes And Obsessions And Weaknesses. And The Conviction Descended On Him That Love Like Theirs Couldn't Possibly Suffer Any Change.

After The Film It Was Raining, A Light Steady Rain. Ruthless Neon On The Wet Streets Like Busted Candy.

Through This Feeling Of Helplessness Suddenly Burst A Piercing Nostalgia For The Lost World Of Childhood. The Way It Came Right Up Against The Heart, That World, And Against The Face. No Indoors Or Outdoors, Only Everything Touching Us, And The Grown-ups Lumbering Past Overhead Like Constellations.