If you want to know who your friends are, get yourself a jail sentence.

I am this fiery snail crawling home.

the impossibility of being human all too human this breathing in and out out and in these punks these cowards these champions these mad dogs of glory moving this little bit of light toward us impossibly.

they simply never understand, do they, that sometimes solitude is one of the most beautiful things on earth?

I will remember the kisses, our lips raw with love, and how you gave me everything you had and how I offered you what was left of me.

I don't think I have written a poem when I was completely sober. But I have written a few good ones or a few bad ones under the hammer of a black hangover when I didn't know whether another drink or a blade would be the best thing.

our bones like stems into the sky will forever cry victory