Let Our Scars Fall In

The Rest Of My Days I Spend Wandering: Wondering What, Anyway, Was That Sticky Infusion, That Rank Flavor Of Blood, That Poetry, By Which I Lived?

The First Step... Shall Be To Lose The Way.

There Are Two Versions To Every Poem – The Crying Version And The Straight Version

Second-hand Gloves Will Become Lovely Again, Their Memories Are What Give Them The Need For Other Hands. And The Desolation Of Lovers Is The Same: That Enormous Emptiness Carved Out Of Such Tiny Beings As We Are Asks To Be Filled; The Need For The New Love Is Faithfulness To The Old.

Sometimes It Is Necessary To Reteach A Thing Its Loveliness