The Things We Wrote

It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.

I used to build dreams about you.

The closest bonds we will ever know are bonds of grief. The deepest community one of sorrow.

There’s nothing wrong with not understanding yourself.

Love those who love you when you have nothing to offer but your company.

If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.

If a poem hasn’t ripped apart your soul; you haven’t experienced poetry.

I opened my mouth, almost said something. Almost. The rest of my life might have turned out differently if I had. But I didn’t.

People. People. Endless noise. And I am so tired. And I would like to sleep under trees; red ones, blue ones, swirling passionate ones.

Sometimes I forget how hard it is to remember.

I can’t rest alone. For then I face an abyss, the abyss of my lucidity. For I see too much.

You are so brave and quiet I forget you are suffering.

If nothing else, prayer is a birdcall into an empty field.