I Think A Lot Of Times Dreams

The Look Of The Sky As The Day's Blue Blood Runs Out Of Its Cheek.

I Can Remember Being Home From School With Tonsillitis And Writing Stories In Bed To Pass The Time.

He Pointed Toward The Silhouettes On The Side Of The [bathrooms] Instead--black Cutout Man, Black Cutout Woman. The Man Had His Legs Apart, The Woman Had Hers Together. Pretty Much The Story Of The Human Race In Sign Language.

Too Often, In Novels That Are Speculative, God Is A Kind Of Kryptonite, And That's About All That It Is, And It Goes Back To Dracula, Where Someone Dumps A Crucifix In Count Dracula's Face, And He Pulls Away And Runs Back Into His House. That's Not Religion. That's Some Kind Of Juju, Like A Talisman.

If I Can Get It Down On Paper Without Puking All Over The Word Processor, Then As Far As I'm Concerned, It's Fit To See The Light Of Day.