IT’S NOT THE HONEY WHISKEY IN A FRIDAY NIGHT – IT’S THE MANIC SHOW OF POETRY TWEETS THAT TURNS ME ON.

YOUR WORDS ARE MADE OF THE AIR I BREATHE.

SOME PEOPLE SIMPLY DO NOT EXIST ANYMORE. GET USED TO IT. QUESTION MARK.

ASK NOT IF POETRY IS DEAD, ASK HOW YOU CAN LIVE FOR POETRY.

OMG! I DESIGNED THIS NEW SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORM! IT’S CALLED “POETRY” – YOU HAVE TO READ AMY KING’S POEMS TO GET AN INVITE ~

SO MANY PEOPLE, SO FEW POETS

POETRY HAS A PEPTIC PRESENCE. PRESENTLY.

LIFE IS NEVER OVER.

We are metered only by our own machines,while the book is a clock that forgets her machanics.

YOU SAY “POET” LIKE THAT MEANS SOMETHING.

There are things that are not sayable. That’s why we have words.

POETRY SHAPES MY GENDER.

DESPITE THE INVENTION OF TIME MACHINES, WE KEEP BEING LINEAR.

HER BARBED-WIRE SMILELIFTED YOU TO HEAVENBUT I HAVE TO ASKDID GOD LOOK LIKE HER VOICE

WORDS SHLD BE FREE. RELEASE THEM FROM THEIR SENTENCES.

STUFF POETS STILL LIKE: POETRY

SPOILER ALERT: EVERYONE FALLS IN LOVE & DIES!

I WISH YOU ALL THE REALITY YOU COULD EVER WANT. HANDLE. WANT.

ERRORS ARE WHAT MAKE US HUMAN. PLOT TWIST: I’M A HORSE.

THE AMPUTATED HEARTBEATS HARDER