This is what I meant when I said "nice shirt."

I, too, cursed when there came "Breaking News" right in the middle of that long awaited song.

On globe-trotting.

“I was right in the front!” I said, getting excited. “What CD?”

I wanna practice my O face imagined in the bathroom mirror all slackjawed like a B-film death scene.

Tour Guide, turn the party out. 

i dog ear my favorite bits, like treats buried in the couch for safekeeping.

Watching us flail our bodies like a bunch of life-sick idiots.

i wanted to be home. i wanted to be brave.

Don't you dare get cynical.

A song about a man’s last words, in a gas chamber, asking Joe Louis to save him – it’s an angel’s trumpet.

If there’s light beyond these woods, I don’t want to see it.

A single cell kicking off, snowballing at random, starting this all over—so Ashley said fuck it, let’s stomp it out.

I don’t remember ever being picky about what I ate.

A secret something that means you’ll never be in its circle though sometimes you are in its orbit.

No one else seems to notice the ingredient you add.

See you at AWP.

Sometimes I think the power is better than a hard drug. Scream in his face so loud the neighbors could hear.

I love him like a paper doll. He will keep us from the end of the song; we’ve heard the finale is an ache, a starving.

We’ll hold each other, hand in smoldering hand, until our next spark splits and we want to scream: Your hair is on fire.