Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.
Poems aren't postcards to send home.
I am teaching... This year it's kind of like having a love affair with a rhinoceros.
sorrow is easier than guilt.
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.
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.