Images are the heart of poetry ... You're not a poet without imagery.

My mouth blooms like a cut.

Women tell time by the body. They are like clocks. They are always fastened to the earth, listening for its small animal noises.

I am stuffing your mouth with your promises and watching you vomit them out upon my face.

Craft is a trick you make up to let you write the poem.

Yesterday I did not want to be borrowed but this is the typewriter that sits before me and love is where yesterday is at.

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