I Think Artists Can Go To A

I Love That Moment In Writing When Language Falls Short. There Is Something More There. A Larger Body. Even By The Failure Of Words I Begin To Detect Its Dimensions. As I Work The Prose, Shift The Verbs, Look For New Adjectives, A Different Rhythm, Syntax, Something New Begins To Come To The Surface.

Each Life Reverberates In Every Other Life. Whether Or Not We Acknowledge It, We Are Connected, Woven Together In Our Needs And Desires, Rich And Poor, Men And Women Alike.

Poetry Is A Good Medium For Revolutionary Hope.

I Know I Am Made From This Earth, As My Mother's Hands Were Made From This Earth, As Her Dreams Came From This Earth And All That I Know, I Know In This Earth, The Body Of The Bird, This Pen, This Paper, These Hands, This Tongue Speaking, All That I Know Speaks To Me Through This Earth.

The Mind Can Forget What The Body, Defined By Each Breath, Subject To The Heart Beating, Does Not.