…nobody ever takes from the desert anything but aridity and monsters…

…when I was a kid, Toronto streets were deserted and quiet on Sundays, except for the sound of church bells I stood on the sidewalk one December listening to the Christmas bells – I’ve never...

…authority is the unmistakeable tone in the voice of a true writer…

…I’m the last person to ask about unrequited love – I’ve run away to the Moon and fled to its valleys…

…if you want your own distinctive voice, you first have to become someone…

…that icy glass reduces your beauty – dims your fire – let me be your mirror…

…I’ve known damnable beauty – the turgid pull of swirling blackness – but in the end, it’s futile – purity alone redeems…

…you can be talented as a wolf is breathtakingly fierce…silver and gray, like smoke in the trees – but what do you do with terrible beauty?…

The soul is healed by being with children.” …

…good words – that triumphalism of positivity- but life will claw and eat you – chew you over and over – if you carry such a small knife …

put out the candles with your fire—I’m on fire

…to know an other’s interior life you are his confessor or a writer – the one is admitted freely, the other intrudes by discerning of spirits

…I pluck every day from my sweater or chair, red hairs…strands of significance, traces of you in my life …

…when people oppose your view, you can become a lightning rod, but if I were you, I’d let them stew…

…if you’re an artist, you’ve submitted to authority…

…yes I understand your spells—your sex magic—at least, I know this: all lights dim when you walk in…

…when I chose you, I didn’t want the commonplace – I didn’t want a ‘partner’ – I wanted a shrine…

…the wet brush of snowflakes was like your kisses everywhere …

…I see more pathology in others than I did ten years ago – the older I get, the more insane people seem…

…I’m innocent still -inside me are stained glass windows that have never been broken- and when I see your light it stains my soul with color …

This will be a winter so desolate, only memory can fill the emptiness

…the real absurdity is that to love is to suffer, but the reverse isn’t always true…

…I didn’t want you flawless – I have a bare wall at home that’s flawless – I wanted your character trapped in the amber of your skin…

…you can have a dark heart and be a writer, but you can’t have a black one..

…you ask me why I compare you to stars – it’s simple – that’s where your goddess has fled…

…Mankind is not a race of noble savages – but primitive monsters hide inside us, elusive as Sasquatch…

…Ah, but the Moon my Love is jealous, and can you blame him? You outshine him with your virtues…

…my writing is a wild mustang – more thunderous than a lightning storm -and all my skill which I call art, is devoted to simply staying on…

I love watching you – you’re a silent film of gestures

…each heart is made of a different stone – no two feel alike nor break the same way …

…how are you sacred to me? your lines are golden threads – your patter, my patten – I explore the liturgy of your words…

… here’s what I believe – sometimes God has a Plan B…

…writers, like priests, should have compassion…and a sensitivity to pain…

…I remember the oily smoke of a cigarette suspended in a shaft of sunlight – with you, everything was beautiful…

…if you’ve got writer’s block, you aren’t empty – maybe it’s just like Twitter – overwhelmed, and loading seems to be taking a while…

…when you’re broken, everything gets a little honester – you make mistakes and don’t give a damn – you give up on perfection, but get real…

…you are enchanted – only a princess can leave glass footprints in the snow…

…I see myself at crossroads in my life, mapless, lacking bits of knowledge – then, the Moon breaks through, lights up the path before me…

…across the snowy field the barn light gleams – it’s the loneliness of November twilight…

…it took me a lifetime of glimpses, but now I see you completely – did I tell you you’re beautiful? so kind to animals, children and me…

…perhaps in actions I’m less of a man – but, oh the words – such lovely words…

burnt by the sunof your mouth, I’m unable to speak or paint you with words

…you were there when they trampled me – you picked me up, healed me and gave me back my feelings – is it any wonder I love you?…

…don’t be self-conscious – other people are completely unaware of you and more concerned with how they appear …

…the monk beat me to break my spirit, incensed I knew Acquinas – angry, I knew his riddle – beauty is what is pleasing to the eye – he wasn’t…

… yes I speak a different language – the dark fire of poetry – it flutters and gutters in tune with the mood…

…what is sacred is the other person -we forget that sometimes – and fail to honor who they are …

…I put you on the pedestal – made you a saint – dare I blaspheme?…

…I don’t just wish you rain, Beloved – I wish you the beauty of storms…

…with you, I find peace from pain – You are gentle and healing like the landscape—like rain…