I Write A Lot By Sound. One

They Will Say I Smoked Cigarettes And Marijuana, Cursed Hoarse As A Crow In All My Languages, And Loved Morphine And Demerol And Tequila And Pulque, Women And Men. I Will Shrug My Illusion Of Shoulders And Answer That I Am A Water Woman, Not A Vessel, Not Something You Can Sail Or Charter. I Am Instead The Tributary, The River, The Fluid Source, And The Sea Itself. I Am All Her Rainy Implications. And What Do You, With Your Rusted Compass, Know Of Love?

If You Can Be Anything Else But A Writer, Be It.

As A Citizen Of The Post-historical Variety, I Am In Continual Mourning And Prepared For Worse.

I Believed In Immaculate Conception And Spontaneous Combustion. I Believed In Aliens From Outer Space And Vampires, Prophecy, And The Resurrection Of The Dead. I Had Deja Vu Many Times Each Day. I Was Thirteen.

I Have A Great Ability To Improvise Verbally And I Am Very Funny On A Dime.