Rejoice with the day lily for it is born for a day to live by the mailbox and glorify the roadside

And we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins forgotten. Am I still lost? Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself

Somebody who should have been born is gone.

It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart, violent and religious

Some women marry houses. It's another kind of skin; it has a heart, a mouth, a liver and bowel movements.

Watch out for intellect, because it knows so much it knows nothing and leaves you hanging upside down, mouthing knowledge as your heart falls out of your mouth.

I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.