When It Comes To Death, We Know

He Loved Her, Of Course, But Better Than That, He Chose Her, Day After Day. Choice: That Was The Thing.

Can You Hear The Dreams Crackling Like A Campfire? Can You Hear The Dreams Sweeping Through The Pine Trees And Tipis? Can You Hear The Dreams Laughing In The Sawdust? Can You Hear The Dreams Shaking Just A Little Bit As The Day Grows Long? Can You Hear The Dreams Putting On A Good Jacket That Smells Of Fry Bread And Sweet Smoke? Can You Hear The Dreams Stay Up Late And Talk So Many Stories?

I Think The World Is A Series Of Broken Dams And Floods, And My Cartoons Are Tiny Little Lifeboats.

Seems Like The Cold Would Never Go Away And Winter Would Be Like The Bottom Of My Feet But Then It Is Gone In One Night And In Its Place Comes The Sun So Large And Laughable.

I'm A Method Writer. In Order To Write About The Emotion, I Have To Experience It. I Get Physically Tired And Exhausted, Devoting Hours And Hours And Hours To It.