All I am is the trick of words writing themselves.

... and my love stays bitterly glowing, spasms of it will not sleep, and I am helpless and thirsty and need shade but there is no one to cover me- not even God.

[I] have fantasies of killing myself and thus being the powerful one not the powerless one.

Suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build.

Be careful of words, / ... they can be both daisies and bruises.

When I'm writing, I know I'm doing the thing I was born to do.

Take your foot out of the graveyard, they are busy being dead.