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Either she was foul, or her attire was bad, Or she was not the wench I wished t'have had. Idly I lay with her, as if I loved not, And like a burden grieved the bed that moved not. Yet though both of us performed our true intent, Yet I could not cast anchor where I meant. She on my neck her ivory arms did throw, Her arms far whiter than the Scythian snow. And eagerly she kissed me with her tongue, And under mine her wanton thigh she flung. Yea, and she soothed me up and called me sir, And used... (continue reading)

I wish we could control this revolting want of control: these people with their spongy eyes, their mouths of trembling shoehorns, billhooks for %#&@$!es and bear traps for vulvas. One taste of sunlight and at once they can't do without it. Water, the same, and food, and air, and a dozen other squalid habits. Some like their copulation, a rusting carnation in a cut-glass neck are not physically compulsive but the partners can't stop wanting them to be: so we desire to be raped by love, who... (continue reading)

Let me tell you about my marvelous god, how he hides in the hexagons of the bees, how the drought that wrings its leather hands above the world is of his making, as well as the rain in the quiet minutes that leave only thoughts of rain. An atom is working and working, an atom is working in deepest night, then bursting like the farthest star; it is far smaller than a pin%#&@$!, far smaller than a zero and it has no will, no will toward us. This is why the heart has paced and paced, will pace... (continue reading)