Everyone in me is a bird I am beating all my wings
Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark.
She is so naked and singular. She is the sum of yourself and your dream. Climb her like a monument, step after step. She is solid.
Craft is a trick you make up to let you write the poem.
It would be pleasant to be drunk.
Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance.