Kindle Notes & Highlights
To feel sick in my skeleton, in all the serious confetti of my cells, and know why. Loving you has made me so scandalously beautiful.
Redo the surfaces of your wrong turns to make taking them smoother in the future.
Do I look like a bee? One cell of a hiveswarm individually striped.
Don’t be only that small. If you can’t be big, at least be premolecular, viral, microbial, be a poet of existence, go smaller and more insinuating, in eachness.
No one needs an everyday poet.
Where are you going if not to more of yourself?
I could be an eel in whirled stillwaters, the semiotic blue of trick quicksand, meaningless and true.
I am smoothly used and honeyed, self-twinned, fearless, a wineskin emptying into a singing stranger.
So poor in our weather we strike a match that the wind knows better than to snuff. We steal and peak and have enough.
Your eyes are largely plural like fish sleepfloating in their zones, no souls, but thirsty.
