I Write About What I Know; And

He's At Ease, His Body Sculpted To The Music, His Shoulder Searching The Other Shoulder, His Right Toe Knowing The Left Knee, The Height, The Depth, The Form, The Control, The Twist Of His Wrist, The Bend Of His Elbow, The Tilt Of His Neck, Notes Digging Into Arteries, And He Is In The Air Now, Forcing The Legs Up Beyond Muscular Memory, One Last Press Of The Thighs, An Elongation Of Form, A Loosening Of Human Contour, He Goes Higher And Is Skyheld.

...it Was Necessary To Love Silence, But Before You Could Love Silence You Had To Have Noise.

The Thing About Love Is That We Come Alive In Bodies Not Our Own.

The Contemporary American Novelist Benefits In A Way From Being Ignored. It Makes You Angrier And Makes You Want To Go Into All Of Those Places Where You Shouldnt.

You Cannot Read Any Image Of The World Trade Center Without Thinking Of 9/11.