Slowly, slowly, catch the monkey.

Not being perfect hurts.

Why can’t I try on different lives, like dresses, to see which fits best and is more becoming?

I am terrified by this dark thing That sleeps in me; All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.

Love set you going like a fat gold watch. The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry Took its place among the elements.

There is nothing like puking with somebody to make you into old friends.

As a poet I would say everything should be able to come into a poem but I can't put toothbrushes in a poem. I really can't.