“Let the peace of this day be here tomorrow when I wake up.”

Someday she might replace whatever of her had gone away by some prosthetic device, a dress of a certain color, a phrase in a letter, another lover.

All investigations of Time, however sophisticated or abstract, have at their true base the human fear of mortality.

Every weirdo in the world is on my wavelength.

For every kind of vampire, there is a kind of cross.

What goes around may come around, but it never ends up exactly the same place, you ever notice? Like a record on a turntable, all it takes is one groove’s difference and the universe can be on into a whole ‘nother song.

If the world offered nothing, nowhere to support or make bearable whatever her private grief was, then it is that world, and not she, that is at fault.

Through the machineries of greed, pettiness, and the abuse of power, love occurs.

Length is usually intensity. Not time.

It all comes down, as it must, to the desires of individual men. Oh, and women too of course, bless their empty little heads.

She may know a little, may think of herself, face and body, as ‘pretty’ but he could never tell her all the rest, how many other living things, birds, nights smelling of grass and rain, sunlit moments of simple peace, also gather in what she is to him.

If patterns of ones and zeros were ‘like’ patterns of human lives and death, if everything about an individual could be represented in a computer record by a long string of ones and zeros, then what kind of creature would be represented by a long string of lives and deaths?

Perhaps its familiarity rendered it temporarily invisible to you.

A screaming comes across the sky.

What are the stars but points in the body of God where we insert the healing needles of our terror and longing?

There was no difference between the behavior of a god and the operations of pure chance.

They plot, they plot, sleeping or afoot they never let up.

Today was the day years ago it meant something then it can’t anymore.

Some days, you will be close to the finish line and still not make it.

I still have hope that one day someone will love all of me – from the hallelujahs right down to the hallows.

Some days I am more wildfire than a woman.

Nostalgia seems to haunt me these days I wonder if it’s old age or just a phase.

Eases our darkness into daylight. Oceans apart, but what remains the same, is our eyes gazing at the same moon.

What a loss they suffered, the day they left you.

There came that day in mid-July I never saw it coming I don’t know why house empty and you gone you imprinted my heart with that Leonard Cohen song.