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… as I leave them. Smoke from a home fire roams the air. Snow comes. My shoulders go soft— two blades loosening into the … a careless warrior, who watches the leaves as they turn and die, and Jon is leaving. Lynn is lying about her life, so I … so I can’t hold her or hold her down. But what is the cold compared to the fire? Where does the rage go? The road’s …

… various vessels. Wooden bowls for water or for salt. She dies beneath a wheel—at what will become a young age— where a century and then some later, I’ll … casts a shadowless shadow on the northwest side of the Five Points Circle. The old little bomber’s sign, mounted like a …

… in a ball of light blinding on the road to Damascus. He comes in silence. Lie there night after night and you will come to know He speaks in the tongue of suffering. I have … can be unmade. Do not underestimate how hard it is to die and do not think the dead will save you. The dead have …

… these categories of citizens have a pronounced tendency to die out or travel by subway less and less often the men of … men of my country prematurely descend into the grave and become weightless angels ideal raw material for metaphysical …

… Grey tea with cream. I am reminded, The pink man likes obedience. The Florentine moon is behind a fig leaf. The flesh … Wounds in the flesh. The wounds on Christ are female. The bodies of saints are broken apart & stolen for worship. You … please increase my bewilderment . The god of ecstasy is also the god of rage. I climb inside you & You scream …