I’m not sure why poems need to make things clear. Why can’t poems make things muddy? Disorient as opposed to orient?

When the poem becomes strange, you know you might have something.

I feel like the read-write culture is going back to being the read-only culture because we figured out the read-write culture is just too much work—on everyone’s end.

I think clogs make my butt look smaller.

Poetry should aspire to be better than its authors.

Social media and digital communications allow us to communicate what we feel independent of feeling what we feel. Typing an emoticon smiley face might be an indicator or placeholder for a feeling that would lead us to smile, but it is often devoid of the actual feeling—a stand-in that serves only to fill space on the screen and to express to someone else an emotion that never took up residence in our bodies.

I would say I have been to hell and back over the past 6 years, but I am not quite sure yet about the “and back” part.

To open up the earth with a crowbar. To scale trees for their sacred fruits. To whisper “thank you, thank you” only to hear no “you are welcome.” To drive elbow deep into whatever we think is ours.

To enter another day of “I” infesting our thoughts. To discern space with a dollar. To apologize, then do more wrong.

Today I measured time by switchbacks, not by minutes.