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.

Today life opened inside me like an egg.

As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.

God owns heaven but He craves the earth.

God has a brown voice, as soft and full as beer.

The future is a fog that is still hanging out over the sea, a boat that floats home or does not.

Thief!- how did you crawl into, crawl down alone into the death I wanted so badly and for so long.