Maybe if I could slip into Sylvia's mind, sort out the spices in her rack, alphabetize them and dust them off. Maybe then I'd understand how it's the little things that pull you under.

I place solitude in a frame on my desk and call it, the one I love.

...look up and see the madnessorganized in the stars.

the moon is just another kind of clock

I escape disaster by writing a poem with a joke in it:The past, present, and future walk into a bar—it was tense.

To suffer together is to suffer with beauty...

in the corner of the painting of successthe signature is blurred

I wonder if I might be lonelierif I didn't have loneliness

I don’t believe we should carry backupplans in life’s suitcase—they’re too easy to unpack like living a life in yoga pants, so comfortable our hips spreadinto new timezones...