I sat by the traintracks at night after work for years, piecing life together, trying to make sense of the world. It felt like I was collecting jigsaw pieces, little thoughts that felt true to me, without a picture on the jigsaw box. There's still no picture on the jigsaw box, but here are the pieces I collected and perhaps a few corner pieces too. These are some of my favourite little lines and stanzas from across my poetry books. All hand typed on my wonky old typewriter. These fragments span, art, life, and all the stupidly beautiful and stupid things.