from One Hundred Quatrains

8

By now you know: I need the words.

You'll learn to give me what I seek.

It's my sick mind, it feeds on words.

I'm begging you, for God's sake: speak!

17

Hurry, pin my wrists in place,

nail me to your bed like Christ . . .

comfort me, caress my face . . .

fuck me when I expect it least.

45

From nerves veins valves ventricles

from tendons cartilage nerves ducts

from follicles nerves ribs clavicles . . .

from every pore my soul erupts.

47

You liked that? you actually came?

but how? Explain to me. But why?

If you got off on that, you're doomed.

A charge I can't and don't deny.

71

Why is even pleasure a kind of chore?

Why is what sense I have left leaving me?

Come on, explain. Who do you take me for,