Pain Wanders Through My Bones Like A

Art Is The Means We Have Of Undoing The Damage Of Haste. It's What Everything Else Isn't.

What Is Desire?-- The Impulse To Make Someone Else Complete? That Woman Would Set Sodden Straw On Fire.

Civilization Is Over-rated, But There Isn't Much Else.

Fear Was My Father, Father Fear. His Look Drained The Stones.

My Papa's Waltz: The Whiskey On Your Breath Could Make A Small Boy Dizzy; But I Hung On Like Death: Such Waltzing Was Not Easy. We Romped Until The Pans Slid From The Kitchen Shelf; My Mother's Countenance Could Not Unfrown Itself. The Hand That Held My Wrist Was Battered On One Knuckle; At Every Step You Missed My Right Ear Scraped A Buckle. You Beat Time On My Head With A Palm Caked Hard By Dirt, Then Waltzed Me Off To Bed Still Clinging To Your Shirt.