Everything is possible in America, except the production of intelligence.
It’s just another stop on the curvy roadthe final encounterfor the man who has liveddeath is the answer.
Do not judge a woman on her knees_you never know how tall she is when she stands!
I ain’t scared to lend a handI ain’t scared to clench it either
Do not judge a woman on her knees: you never know how tall she is when she stands.
All mothers breed dead children.They shall, perhaps, live later.When no longer dead, they are bornNot—by coincidence, by choice.
Women in love are patheticand I cannot be bothered, for now,I am back to metaphysicsand my armpits gather hair.
I shall have my lasso, I shall lead the course;I recognize it’s time to mount a different horse.
I have not encouraged talk about man’s holy privacy, although I do respect and defend man’s right to have it.
Now, as we close one chapter, the pen is gradually inking up, preparing itself to write the next.
Beneath her thinnest skin and light, a fuse leads way to dynamite.
We quenched the bulging flame, amongst the ashes embers of fire remain
The match I struck shall not run deadYou’re my first inhale, my last cigarette.
No man has the courage to approach her or initiate questions she herself rise, for all men fear a fascist and she can very well be a fascist’s wife.
Some find freedom in comfortothers find comfort in freedom
What differentiated us was our perception of our mutual reality, which made no difference.