The boys and girls are one tonight. They unbutton blouses. They unzip flies. They take off shoes. They turn off the light. The glimmering creatures are full of lies. They are eating each other. They are overfed. At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren

Depression is boring, I think and I would do better to make some soup and light up the cave.

Being kissed on the back of the knee is a moth at the windowscreen.

I think I've been writing black poems all along, wearing my white mask. I'm always the victim ... but no longer!

The body is a damn hard thing to kill.

I’ll put it out there: I am scarred by the nostalgic indicipherability of my own desires; I an engulfed by the intimidating unknown, pushed through darkness and dragged down by the irretrievable past sweetness of my memories.