“A camel in distress isn’t a shy creature. It doesn’t hang around in bars, nursing a solitary drink. It doesn’t phone up old friends and sob at them. It doesn’t mope, or write long soulful poems about Life and how dreadful it is when seen from a bedsitter. It doesn’t know what angst is.”
“How much longer will I live? (Urian)You’re immortal, barring death. (Acheron)That doesn’t make sense. (Urian)Most of life doesn’t. (Acheron)”
“Anyway, life doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t care about fair or unfair.”
“I sighed. ‘It doesn’t matter what we do. Money comes and goes.’ I shook my head. ‘It doesn’t matter and you know it doesn’t.”
“It doesn’t matter how old I get, but as long as I continue to live I’ll always discover something new about myself.”
“the poem doesn’t have stanzas, it has a body, the poem doesn’t have lines,/ it has blood, the poem is not written with letters, it’s written/ with grains of sand and kisses, petals and moments, shouts and/ uncertainties.”