He Stood Against The Wind And Let

I Do Think I Have An Ability To Record Sensual And Emotional Facts And Factoids, To Construct A Convincing Surface Of What Life Feels Like, Both Physical Life And Emotional Life.

There Is Something About The Way That Greek Poets, Say Aeschylus, Use Metaphor That Really Attracts Me. I Don't Think I Can Imitate It, But There's A Density To It That I Think I'm Always Trying To Push Towards In English.

Eros Is An Issue Of Boundaries. He Exists Because Certain Boundaries Do. In The Interval Between Reach And Grasp, Between Glance And Counterglance, Between ‘i Love You’ And ‘i Love You Too,’ The Absent Presence Of Desire Comes Alive. But The Boundaries Of Time And Glance And I Love You Are Only Aftershocks Of The Main, Inevitable Boundary That Creates Eros: The Boundary Of Flesh And Self Between You And Me. And It Is Only, Suddenly, At The Moment When I Would Dissolve That Boundary, I Realize I Never Can.

The Beloved's Innocence Brutalizes The Lover. As The Singing Of A Mad Person Behind You On The Train Enrages You, Its Beautiful Animal-like Teeth Shining Amid Black Planes Of Paint. As Helen Enrages History. Senza Uscita.

They Were Two Superior Eels At The Bottom Of The Tank And They Recognized Each Other Like Italics.