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Because I can love every small thing.

No one was awake and I was hungover young as clean as a piano.

Dexter was unconsciously dictated to by his winter dreams.

You and the cat wish I were baking pumpkin pie and we were happier.

I was lying with electricity. I was already a story being told.

won’t you celebrate with me that every day has tried to kill me

Not the Olympics, the guard said. Just chuck yourself down the tube.

You slouched on the couch, naked, in front of the air conditioner.

“O youth! The strength of it, the faith of it, the imagination of it!”