Do you feel the same pleasure of twisting yourself around his words, line-by-line, to disentangle his meaning; reading and re-reading, fitting into his forms, again-and- again, not so much for the story, but for the stretch?
Women walk through my life tourists never to stay a passing fancy to tell their friends about over brunch after yoga I read a book that told me to live in the moment so I don't really need more than a couple weeks and a warm bed slowly gone cold
“What Love there is in dark!” ,exclaimed the wind. “What Peace is there in night!” ,cried the ground. “What Safety there is in silence!” ,the faucet dripped.
While the man, with - white knuckle grip, hugged his covers round.
when the air stands still overhead - stale in 112 - nothing happening everywhere a stand-still like a bright room all the cockroaches already ran out of the unchallenged fluorescence freakish & bizarre riding rascal scooters
holding in your breath only seems natural offensive to stir a sea of death
living and dying are often paired up living condemned by optimists proudly dying "is living"
cherish instead those bold cynics above such rationalization content to push death as far from living as means make available
always-too-cold-metal-handle the refrigerator door opens with an elastic jolt never easy always excessive violence pressed deep into squeezed palm whether you go: slow or fast; never easy whether: anticipation **** and rip through resistance; or tear slow with quiet tenderness pops