I was satisfied with haiku until I met you, but now I want a Russian novel, a 50-page description of you sleeping.

Here is a semi-transparent pebble I picked up on the way to my EKG. Probably worthless but it is my heart so take it.

I don't believe in writer's block, writing well is very easy; it's writing horribly, the horrible work necessary to do to get to writing well, that is so difficult one may just not be willing to do it.

Just because we have birds inside us, we don't have to be cages.

You want happy endings, read cookbooks.

There are no ordinary feelings. Just as there are no ordinary spring days or kicked over cans of paint.

Just because a thing can't be done doesn't mean it can't be did. We all look into mirrors and see phantoms. Our error is our Eros. Why is there something instead of nothing? The answer is reckless and surreal.