It's a little mad, but I believe I am many people. When I am writing a poem, I feel I am the person who should have written it.

We talked death with burned-up intensity, both of us drawn to it like moths to an electric light bulb. Sucking on it!

Writers are such phonies: they sometimes have wise insights but they don't live by them at all. That's what writers are like...you think they know something, but usually they are just messes.

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.

Don't bite till you know if it's bread or stone.

I would like a simple life / yet all night I am laying / poems away in a long box.

Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there; something worth learning in that narrow diary of my mind