I think because my parents died in their early 50s, mid 50s, I always thought I would die young. And that's been both a useful thing and I suspect something that's haunted me a little bit.

Bring to me, it said, continual proof / you've been alive.

When I stop becoming, that's when I worry.

Although I know it's unfair, I reveal myself one mask at a time.

Connubial Because with alarming accuracy she’d been identifying patterns I was unaware of—this tic, that tendency, like the way I've mastered the language of intimacy in order to conceal how I felt— I knew I was in danger of being terribly understood.

All good poems are victories over something.

I’ve had it with all stingy-hearted sons of bitches. A heart is to be spent.