Maybe Any Love We Ever Have Is

Once Upon A Time . . . What Time Are We Upon And Where Do I Belong?

She Went Out In The City With Its Lights Like A Radioactive Phosphorescence, Wandered Through Galleries Where The High-priced Art On The Walls Was The Same As The Graffiti Scrawled Outside By Taggers Who Were Arrested Or Killed For It, Went To Parties In Hotel Rooms Where White-skinned, Lingerie-clad Rock Stars Had Been Staying The Night Their Husbands Shot Themselves In The Head, Listened To Music In Nightclubs Where Stunning Boyish Actors Had Od'd On The Pavement.

I Wish I Wasn’t A Girl Who Needed So Much But A Little Free Creature That Slept In Deserts And Ran On Clouds And Lived On Lilies.

Just Like Any Woman,...we Weave Our Stories Out Of Our Bodies. Some Of Us Through Our Children, Or Our Art; Some Do It Just By Living. It's All The Same.

If You Want To Find The Trail, If You Want To Find Yourself, You Must Explore Your Dreams Alone. You Must Grow At A Slow Pace In A Dark Cocoon Of Loneliness So You Can Fly Like Wind, Like Wings, When You Awaken.