Sadness Is Very Close To Hate.

There's More Danger In The Violence You Don't Face.

I See The Poem Or The Novel Ending With An Open Door.

Nowadays He Doesn't Think Of His Wife, Though He Knows He Can Turn Around And Evoke Every Move Of Her, Describe Any Aspect Of Her, The Weigh Of Her Wrist On His Heart During The Night.

This Last Night We Tear Into Each Other, As If To Wound, As If To Find The Key To Everything Before Morning.

I Am Someone Who Has A Cold Heart. If I Am Beside A Great Grief I Throw Barriers Up So The Loss Cannot Go Too Deep Or Too Far. There Is A Wall Instantly In Place, And It Will Not Fall.