I would say everything should be able to come into a poem, but I can't put toothbrushes into a poem, I really can't!

I never feel so much myself as when I'm in a hot bath.

A million years of evolution, Eric said bitterly, and what are we? Animals.

The woman is perfected. Her dead Body wears the smile of accomplishment.

Intoxicated with madness, I'm in love with my sadness

I hadn't, at the last moment, felt like washing off the two diagonal lines of dried blood that marked my cheeks. They seemed touching, and rather spectacular, and I thought I would carry them around with me, like the relic of a dead lover, till they wore off of their own accord.

I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant loosing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.