“Lord, let me write,leave me autistic and typinguntil my windows bust into a thousand silver dovesand I know the poem is done.”

“Please let me know if I am not hereLet me know if I fail to find you thereFor before the dawn I leave the night behind meAnd before my heart I let you leave me behind.”

“Seduce me. Write letters to me. And poems, I love poems. Ravish me with your words. Seduce me.”

“I feel you in my bones. You're knocking at my windows. You're slow to letting me go. And I know this feeling, This feeling in my bones.”

“I wish i could write them down, these little coloured parables or poems that live for a moment in some cell of my brain, and then leave it to go wandering elsewhere. I hate writing; the mere act of writing a thing down is troublesome to me. I want some fine medium, and look for it in vain.”

“In that case, maybe you‘d be so kind as to leave me alone and let me sleep?""I want to talk to you."Lords of hell. More talking.”