Scribbled on a few pieces of scrap paper

Vivid moonbeam of insominia.

Shoes outside the door, rainwater in the heels.

O to be able to say of God, everything I know I know through you.

Everything written is meant to be left behind.

You don't need to believe in success, you only need to believe in yourself.

Keep a narrative going by using its white space.

At this point in my life it feels as if the the moon is out looking for me much more frequently than the sun.

What if you really were what other people think you are?

Toward the end of our lives we can see both ambition and lack of ambition catching up with us.

How few poets I know who really know how to do much of anything.

A poet is a person who puts all their eggs into one poem.

A love of watery images discloses my unclarity.

It's one thing to talk about death, another to die, and yet another to live in spite of talking about it.

Only take pictures of what you otherwise can't see. 

The morality of literature: a contentment to stay in the shadows.

Real art isn't just beautiful, it's beautiful because it's real.

Looking at Rothko's paintings just now I see that they're super-alive with death.

My new red fountain pen is just like nature; it expresses itself like it has a mind of its own.

By breathing, I'm letting the air know I exist.

We live in a universe of small worlds.