by heytherewildflower

“I write in lines. So the lines find their way on paper whether I overhear
two boys insulting each other at the gas station, or see a gull cleaning her
feet, or two old men playing dominoes on a hood of a car, or two young women
kissing at the fish market. They become lines on receipts, on my hands, on a
water bottle, on other people’s poems. Lines collect for years, but once in a
while they discover that other lines are sexy and, well, the poems may come from
that sort of a relationship.” -Ilya Kaminsky