Perhaps I am no one. True, I have a body and I cannot escape from it. I would like to fly out of my head, but that is out of the question.

Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.

I tell you what you’ll never really know: all the medical hypothesis that explained my brain will never be as true as these struck leaves letting go.

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

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

Let there be a heaven so that man may outlive his grasses.

Let God be some tribal female who is known but forbidden.