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

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.

You want happy endings, read cookbooks.

You start with a darkness to move through but sometimes the darkness moves through you.

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

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.

Hark, dumbass, the error is not to fall but to fall from no height. Don't fall off a curb, fall off a cliff.