Fragments "I See You Swimming In The Canvas Of Closed Eyes."
They don't despise me. That is love.
If I revolt, consider the ugliness of your revulsion. Don't confuse your inspiration with its offspring.
I strike true...past the heart of your defenses...but you must distance yourself with walls that don't exist.
I speak to wake the eroticism that sleeps in every heart.
We are not hand-in-hand but hand-inside-hand.
I held her so close we both disappeared.
Uncovering the abyss as if it were an itch.
The furtive industries of masturbation must steal their gratification to attain wholeness.
Unawareness: a noise we shout to be heard through.
Sometimes my sexual obsessions ring with the sound of absurdity. I plough myself into the seed so that I may reap the harvest of myself.
A setting sun inside every rising sun.
It is not your surroundings you should be aware of but the inner world that perceives them.
The world is not unkind. Only unkindness is unkind.
A scarlet abyss of flowers hum the melody of agony's entanglement.
A knot of anguish pulled so tight it disappears.
In the carrion I am fed. From the corpses I am raised. Delight putrefies and we invent poetic scales that will never be reached. Spires of fleshy thrills, citadels of silent siege. Eggs that explode with birth.
Sometimes dreams are a gift so precious my heart is broken by waking.
Sometimes I have no sincerity and that is my only sincerity.
Gentleness was a timid flower we told stories to. As time passed we saw its hues turn violent.
A forest large as a universe, girls chattering like angels or birds sometimes slip into its shadows never to return.
Habit is blind so it often makes mistakes.
It is not how we are born but why that is by far a more interesting question.
Perhaps all true questions can never be answered.
I was made tender in the night and awoke like a sponge soaked by the fluid of delicious dreams.
Satiation is an end to the pleasures of hunger's dreaming.
The hands that seek come to stillness when they realise they seek themselves.
I pick you flowers that never die.
Unity enjoys coming apart.
I encompass the compass pregnant with the infinity of directions. We are led not by direction but its endless possibility.
The immensity of a nausea as if the whole universe was sick with dying.
Her love sprang like the source of a violent happieness.