When I Stop Becoming, That's When I

Connubial Because With Alarming Accuracy She’d Been Identifying Patterns I Was Unaware Of—this Tic, That Tendency, Like The Way I've Mastered The Language Of Intimacy In Order To Conceal How I Felt— I Knew I Was In Danger Of Being Terribly Understood.

A True Inner World Is Often Revealed By Style And Sensibility As Much As By What Appears To Be Confession.

I Don't Let A Poem Go Into The World Unless I Feel That I've Transformed The Experience In Some Way. Even Poems I've Written In The Past That Appear Very Personal Often Are Fictions Of The Personal, Which Nevertheless Reveal Concerns Of Mine. I've Always Thought Of My First-person Speaker As An Amalgam Of Selves, Maybe Of Other People's Experiences As Well.

A Moment Of Something Between Acceptance And Resignation Of One's Smallness In The World.

Altruism Is For Those Who Can't Endure Their Desires. There's A World As Ambiguous As A Moan, A Pleasure Moan Our Earnest Neighbors Might Think A Crime. It's Where We Could Live. I'll Say I Love You, Which Will Lead, Of Course, To Disappointment, But Those Words Unsaid Poison Every Next Moment. I Will Try To Disappoint You Better Than Anyone Else Has. --mon Semblable