I find now, swallowing one teaspoon of pain, that it drops downward to the past where it mixes with last year’s cupful and downward into a decade’s quart and downward into a lifetime’s ocean. I alternate treading water and deadman’s float.

Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark.

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.

being sixteen in the pants I died full of questions

Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort.

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

Somebody who should have been born is gone.