“In my dreams we got past the parking lot; you took me past the old, oak door, led me up onto the vacant altar, and offered me to every god whose name you invoked as you worshipped my body.”

How do you sleep soundly, knowing you traded roses for weeds?

I am a phoenix living in a culture of vultures.

You’re preserved inside of me; cadaversque. I both acquiesce and atrophy because of it.

As if flesh and skin and hands are any match for bullets. As if bones won’t crack in hails of powder and lead. As if rivers of blood are not the direct result of trigger fingers that bend but do not break on “bad days”.

Love me until oblivion paints your portraits on my eyelids, sinking by eons into distance that never separates us.

I don’t know how to put my love down, or to keep holding too much of it.

Your darkness does not scare me, nor will I run from you; like a star, I’m falling for the phases of your moon.

We usually seek the divine in the sky, But religion is best found on the ground. Nature is our true creator.

When I was a child, I used to fear monsters under the bed. I have since learned that most monsters are found within. And they are always worth fighting.

I pressed the dress to my nose, and found what was left of your ghost. It was then that I remembered how to cry.

To the oppressed with no seat on the table; dreaming of change and better days, I will pull up a chair, and light fires in your name.

I was looking for you in all the places our love used to be. When all along I should have been looking for me.

Some days, my mind will still be in prison, but I will live in spite of it. I unlearn how to swim; I trade my gills for lungs and wings.

I would throw down roots with you if I ever had the chance. We’d grow strong in tender shoots, and bloom in burning hands.

Creatives are neither born nor created. They are activated.

The glint of mischief in your eyes is the flint in my matchstick. Striking; always this close to igniting.

I love my body. I’m very much OK with it. I don’t think artists are ever the ones who have the problem with their weight, it is other people.

She decided to name the stars. And as each one fell from the sky, her body got warmer. Her heart opened.

I’m a civic busybody and I’ve been blessed with an active career.

Your eyes are like a magnet whilst the shape of the body hypnotists me.

When we receive Holy Communion, we experience something extraordinary – a joy, a fragrance, a well-being that thrills the whole body and causes it to exalt.

No animal ever has an ugly body until it is domesticated. It is the same with the human body.

Remember that bodily exercise, when it is well ordered, as I have said, is also prayer by means of which you can please God our Lord.

Souls without prayer are like bodies, palsied and lame, having hands and feet they cannot use.