Half of what I write is garbage, but if I don’t get it down on paper it decomposes in my head.
 This work is composed entirely of compost.

“Love is 3:33 am plus 360 degrees plus 365 days, minus 12:34 pm. I ought to know…”

“A flag could be used as a blanket, but a blanket couldn’t be used as a flag. A …”

“The piece of junk is a piece of me. It’s a part of my family, and I can’t part …”

“If a hooker asked me my name, I’d say John.”