I'm hunting for the truth. It might be a kind of poetic truth, and not just a factual one, because behind everything that happens to you, there is another truth, a secret life.

Let God be some tribal female who is known but forbidden.

As a writer one has to take the chance on being a fool.

Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark.

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

Talk to me about sadness. I talk about it too much in my own head but I never mind others talking about it either; I occasionally feel like I tremendously need others to talk about it as well.

My death from the wrists, two name tags, blood worn like a corsage to bloom one on the left and one on the right.