Poetry is the establishment of a metaphorical link between white butterfly-wings and the scraps of torn-up love-letters.
There has to be some limit to what lawyers can take from their clients. Otherwise, cagey attorneys end up with the lion's share of the settlement and the victims end up with little more than scraps.
It is possible to be truly mad and to still exist upon scraps of life.
The strongest iron, hardened in the fire, most often ends in scraps and shatterings.
. . . He was just scraps of words and dislocated phrases.
I think the occupation of my poetry is akin to this desire to be many things at once - things that sometimes conflict. Regarding how the quotidian makes its way into the work, it's all of it, in a way. Like, when I'm writing poems, I'm just picking up scraps of whatever is happening around me - a geographical location, a love affair failed, the day the air felt like rope.