it is a very good day. Tom Beckett's book Vanishing Points of Resemblance arrived today. the book is filled with wonderful nuggets of language:

I'm a poet. I think in fragments, feel in waves.

* * *

A poem looms like a drink of water. I'm so fucking thirsty all the time.

* * *

I used to want to be a woman. But that was too much work. Now I try to write. Which is almost as bad.

* * *

I caress myself, pretend to be touching someone else.

hope Tom does not mind my quoting from his book, but it is filled with lines that snap with the vital energy. I've only read this book once so I will refrain from making any pronouncement on it, it demands rereading. still Beckett's examination of identity, his courage to write of very personal matters, and the form the book takes as a kind of novel or notebook that uses language as its fuel for velocity announces a triumph.