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

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

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

Not that it was beautiful, but that I found some order there.

Abundance is scooped from abundance yet abundance remains.

I think of myself as writing for one person, that one perfect reader who understands and loves.

... man is eating the earth up like a candy bar.