Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.

– W. S. Merwin

W. S. Merwin, “Separation” from The Second Four Books of Poems (Port Townsend, Washington: Copper Canyon Press, 1993). Copyright © 1993 by W. S. Merwin. Reprinted with the permission of The Wylie Agency, Inc.Source: Poetry (January 1962).



Let the wretches who today
      include your name
   in their books--the Damasos,
      the Gerardos, the sons
   of bitches, silent accomplices of
      the executioner-know
   that your martyrdom
      won't be expunged, that your
   will fall on their entire moon of
   And to those who denied you in
      their rotten laurel....
-Pablo Neruda



If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
‘ Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!

– Rudyard Kipling, 1895


William Burroughs on Love

a la   J*** C**k via fb: These are the last words of William Burroughs— written the day he died

Thinking is not enough.
Nothing is.
There is no final enough of wisdom, experience —
any fucking thing.
No Holy Grail, no Final Satori,
no final solution.
Just conflict.
Only thing can resolve conflict is love,
like I felt for Fletch and Ruski, Spooner and Calico.
Pure love.
What I feel for my cats present and past.
What is It?
The Most natural painkiller that there is.