here is the first thing;
i fell in love with a woman when i didn't know what i was.
i hated her before i loved her - everything about her an evasive blur,
and i caught her briefly enough to discover
that i wanted to learn every line of her body -
the taste of her cupid's bow -
briefly enough for her to have vanished.

here is the second;
i am in the writing mood with nothing to write about
but the overwhelming weight of diaspora.
i am in the writing mood and i fear, reader,
i can't write a single word.
how to paint a picture that hasn't been painted before:
i don't know.

there is perhaps a third;
words flow out of my fingers. if they were to flow out of my mouth,
then i would bite them short and out.
god, who wants to hear that?