We're drinking and we're dancing but there's nothing really happening. The place is dead as Heaven on a Saturday night. - Leonard Cohen

When he puts his mouth against her shoulder
she is uncertain whether her shoulder
has given or received the kiss.
All her flesh is like a mouth.

How bitter were
the Prozac pills
of the last
few hundred mornings

It’s a pity if someone… has to console himself for the wreck of his days with the notion that somehow his voice, his work embodies the deepest, most obscure, freshest, rawest oyster of reality in the unfathomable refrigerator of the heart’s ocean, but I am such a one, and there you have it.