Sometimes the soul takes pictures of things it has wished for, but never seen.

I'm hunting for the truth. It might be a kind of poetic truth, and not just a factual one, because behind everything that happens to you, there is another truth, a secret life.

They [daisies] are my favorite flower. There is something innocent and vulnerable about them as if they thanked you for admiring them.

The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart.

But my future is a secret. / It is as shy as a mole.

I am alone here in my own mind. There is no map and there is no road. It is one of a kind just as yours is.

God went out of me as if the sea dried up like sandpaper, as if the sun became a latrine. God went out of my fingers. They became stone. My body became a side of mutton and despair roamed the slaughterhouse.