Stay at least until the fire stops burnin’
At least until the room has stopped it’s turnin’
And when the embers dyin’
We’re lyin’ in the afterglow
It’ll be as sweet as anything we’ve ever known…"
any way we can purely touch the world again, the way
a salamander does, breathing through its skin? Can we
become the strands of this shrine we weave ourselves into
hoping to emerge into a world where—where what?
There is no end to desire, which means no end to regret,
no end to our need for an ending, so that even the sky refuses
our touch, that sky which, at its bluest, is the most empty."
Richard Jackson, closing lines “Benediction,” Heartwall (University of Massachusetts Press, 2000)
"They deem me mad because I will not sell my days for gold; and I deem them mad because they think my days have a price."
"The young poet feels in himself powers which are far from being expressed: he wishes to be honored for his impulse, not the performabce."
"No one can be that good and survive, when every lyric coming out of your mouth must be taking years off of your life."