To Live Past The End Of Your

I Was More Worn Out With The "odyssey" Than It Was With The "iliad." I Mean, Just Comparing Those Two - You Can See How It's Changing, How The Language Of The "iliad" Is Somehow Monstrously New - And That Language Of The "odyssey" Is More Comfortable, Even For Us.

Those Nights Lying Alone Are Not Discontinuous With This Cold Hectic Dawn. It Is Who I Am.

A Man Moves Through Time. It Means Nothing Except That, Like A Harpoon, Once Thrown He Will Arrive.

Meanwhile Music Pounded / Across Hearts Opening Every Valve To The Desperate Drama Of Being / A Self In A Song.

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.