I Know If I Were In Your

There Are Parts Of Texas Where A Fly Lives Ten Thousand Years And A Man Can't Die Soon Enough. Time Gets Strange There From Too Much Sky, Too Many Miles From Crack To Crease In The Flat Surface Of The Land.

Suddenly The Staggering Love Bursts Away From Me Like Milk From A Smashed Glass.

American Culture Is Torn Between Our Long Romance With Violence And Our Terror Of The Devastation Wrought By War And Crime And Environmental Havoc.

It Is, I Suppose, The Common Grief Of Children At Having To Protect Their Parents From Reality. It Is Bitter For The Young To See What Awful Innocence Adults Grow Into, That Terrible Vulnerability That Must Be Sheltered From The Rodent Mire Of Childhood.

Beside Mama, In My Own Folding Chair, With My Feet Sticking Out In Front Of Me, I Thought About My Own Innards. Just A Few Months Before I'd Had No Idea Whether My Reproductive Equipment Worked. There Was No Evidence. But That Week I Had Become A Full-fledged Bleeder And Was Still Absorbed By This First Change In Myself That I Had Ever Noticed. The Click And Buzz Of My Synapses Kept Making The Same Connection. If You Can Change, You Can Also End. Death Had Always Been A Theory To Me. Now I Knew. The Terror Hurt Good And I Nursed It And Played It Like A Loose Tooth.