I Swim With All My Strength. No

My Backyard Was Replete With Madness, It Just Grew Indigenously In South Florida.

I Often Felt Myself To Be An Outsider, Which Is Great Training For All Writers.

My Fingers Curl Through The Holes In The Wicker, Through The Wet Grass Beneath It, Trying To Hold Tight To The Sharp Blades Of The Present. Somewhere In My Brain A Sinkhole Is Bubbling Over, And Each Bubble Contains A Scene From A Tiny Sunken World ... I Have Never Been The Prophet Of My Own Past Before. It Makes Me Wonder How The Healthy Dreamers Can Bear To Sleep At All, If Sleep Means That You Have To Peer Into That Sinkhole By Yourself. ... I Had Almost Forgotten This Occipital Sorrow, The Way You Are So Alone With The Things You See In Dreams.

But If You Kept Thinking About A Fight You’d Lost, Mom Said, You Were Programming Yourself To Lose Again.

The Beginning Of The End Can Feel A Lot Like The Middle When You Are Living In It.