True Joy Is A Profound Remembering; And

I've Always Thought That Sex And Horror Belonged Together.

It Was As Though In These Last Minutes Together - When They Had So Much To Say - They Could Say Nothing Of The Least Significance, For Fear It Open The Floodgates.

Well, Here He Was. They Could Save Each Other, The Way The Poets Promised Lovers Should. He Was Mystery, He Was Darkness, He Was All She Had Dreamed Of. And If She Would Only Free Him He Would Service Her - Oh Yes - Until Her Pleasure Reached That Threshold That, Like All Thresholds, Was A Place Where The Strong Grew Stronger, And The Weak Perished. Pleasure Was Pain There, And Vice Versa. And He Knew It Well Enough To Call It Home.

The Sun Rose Like A Stripper, Keeping Its Glory Well Covered By Cloud Till It Seemed There'd Be No Show At All.

By And Large I Think Art Is Made By People Who Have Discipline Married To Talent In Sufficiently Large Amounts To Work Even If They Don't Feel Like It. Anybody Can Get Maudlin And Decide To Write Poetry At 11 At Night; The Question Is, Can You Do It At 8:30 On A Monday Morning..?