Why Are We So Monumentally Slow?

I Say Yes When I Mean No And The Wrinkle Grows.

I Still Have Everything You Gave Me It Is Dusty On The Edges. It Is Slightly Rotten. I Guard It Without Thinking. I Focus On It Once A Year When I Shake It Out In The Wind. I Do Not Ache. I Would Not Trade.

Poetry Calls Us To Pause. There Is So Much We Overlook, While The Abundance Around Us Continues To Shimmer, On Its Own.

It Is Really Hard To Be Lonely Very Long In A World Of Words. Even If You Don't Have Friends Somewhere, You Still Have Language, And It Will Find You And Wrap Its Little Syllables Around You And Suddenly There Will Be A Story To Live In.

There Is A Place To Stand Where You Can See So Many Lights You Forget You Are One Of Them.