Black Spring

And then one day, as if suddenly the flesh came undone and the blood beneath the flesh had coalesced with the air, suddenly the whole world roars again and the very skeleton of the body melts like wax. Such a day it may be when first you encounter Dostoevski.

could not say Vladivostok, for instance, nor Carpathians-but he could say Dostoevski divinely

Round and round one walks, seeking the hub and nodality, but the fires are burned to ash and the sex of things is hidden in the finger of a glove.

The plasm of the dream is the pain of separation. The dream lives on after the body is buried.

No matter how exciting, how intolerable the situation, there are always exits, always ameliorations, comforts, compensations, newspapers, religions. But once there was none of this. Once you were free, wild, murderous….

Can I be as I believe myself or as others believe me to be?