Eileen Myles

Copy Image

If passion was a substance I would say it is dark brown, and then blood red. It's like wet grass, tons of it soaked in mud. It's warm and it stinks like shit and it's unaccountably and endlessly good. It's thick and it goes on for miles and it isn't so much deep as bottomless and it holds you in its grip, you never drown. And then it goes. That's all you know

Copy Image

Sometimes in utter hopelessness I put my cheek on the table like it was someone. I wanted to wake my brain up and be loved

Copy Image

What happened was private. I was in it with Rose. She had hurt me grievously and now I was forever attached. I was in it now with all the women in the world. I walked home glad. I will die, I thought with a bounce in my step. I'm whole. Not whole like anyone else, but whole like me. Painful, but simple. It was very simple now

Copy Image

The bag I wanted was beyond reason - something to hold my poems, twice as big as the universe and it must be androgynous