We Wake, If We Ever Wake At

Write About Winter In The Summer.

I Break Up Through The Skin Of Awareness A Thousand Times A Day, As Dolphins Burst Through Seas, And Dive Again, And Rise, And Dive.

All My Books Started Out As Extravagant And Ended Up Pure And Plain.

Old Memories Are Very Easy To Get Except That Once You Write About Something You've Destroyed It.

It's A Little Silly To Finally Learn How To Write At This Age. But I Long Ago Realized I Was Secretly Sincere.