Let the light be called Day so that men may grow corn or take busses.
Sometimes the soul takes pictures of things it has wished for, but never seen.
God went out of me as if the sea dried up like sandpaper, as if the sun became a latrine. God went out of my fingers. They became stone. My body became a side of mutton and despair roamed the slaughterhouse.
... a starving man doesn't ask what the meal is.
...became a woman who learned her own skin and dug into her soul and found it full.
I tell you what you’ll never really know: all the medical hypothesis that explained my brain will never be as true as these struck leaves letting go.