Alphabetical Diaries Quotes

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Truth About Love" I apologize for not being Gandhi or Tom the mailman who is always kind. He makes his way every day no matter the mood of the sky with our words in a sack and Gandhi made the English give India back without taking a gun for a wife. My contribution to the common good is playing with the alphabet in a little room while the world goes foraging for food. I’m a better poet than man and it’s well known how little my verbs are worth. I am my only subject, being the god of my horizons. What saves me is that just beyond my skin the world of yours is where I’d rather live. The AMA says you’ve added seven point six years to my life. In a phrase, love is a transfer of wealth. This is why Adam Smith gave up romantic verse. In trying to say what can’t be said I’ll take the Dragnet approach. Just the facts. I’d be dead sooner without you, you’ll die faster for being a Mrs., raw deal can’t be more clearly defined. To make amends I offer ten percent more kisses each year. Or do I do more harm the closer we become? If yes, leaving would be love and a better man might. But my thrills are selfishly domestic. I like sweeping words into piles and whispering good night.
Bob Hicok (Insomnia Diary (Pitt Poetry Series))
Truth About Love" I apologize for not being Gandhi or Tom            the mailman who is always kind. He makes his way every day no matter            the mood of the sky with our words in a sack and Gandhi made the English            give India back without taking a gun for a wife. My contribution            to the common good is playing with the alphabet in a little room            while the world goes foraging for food. I’m a better poet than man            and it’s well known how little my verbs are worth. I am my only subject,            being the god of my horizons. What saves me is that just beyond my skin            the world of yours is where I’d rather live. The AMA says you’ve added            seven point six years to my life. In a phrase, love is a transfer of wealth.            This is why Adam Smith gave up romantic verse. In trying to say what can’t            be said I’ll take the Dragnet approach. Just the facts. I’d be dead            sooner without you, you’ll die faster for being a Mrs., raw deal can’t be more          clearly defined. To make amends I offer ten percent more kisses each year.            Or do I do more harm the closer we become? If yes, leaving would be love            and a better man might. But my thrills are selfishly domestic. I like sweeping words            into piles and whispering good night. Bob Hicok, Insomnia Diary. (University of Pittsburgh Press. 2004)
Bob Hicok (Insomnia Diary (Pitt Poetry Series))
Truth About Love" I apologize for not being Gandhi or Tom            the mailman who is always kind. He makes his way every day no matter            the mood of the sky with our words in a sack and Gandhi made the English            give India back without taking a gun for a wife. My contribution            to the common good is playing with the alphabet in a little room            while the world goes foraging for food. I’m a better poet than man            and it’s well known how little my verbs are worth. I am my only subject,            being the god of my horizons. What saves me is that just beyond my skin            the world of yours is where I’d rather live. The AMA says you’ve added            seven point six years to my life. In a phrase, love is a transfer of wealth.            This is why Adam Smith gave up romantic verse. In trying to say what can’t            be said I’ll take the Dragnet approach. Just the facts. I’d be dead            sooner without you, you’ll die faster for being a Mrs., raw deal can’t be more          clearly defined. To make amends I offer ten percent more kisses each year.            Or do I do more harm the closer we become? If yes, leaving would be love            and a better man might. But my thrills are selfishly domestic. I like sweeping words            into piles and whispering good night.
Bob Hicok (Insomnia Diary (Pitt Poetry Series))