A Woman Who Writes Feels Too Much.

If You Meet A Cross-eyed Person You Must Plunge Into The Grass, Alongside The Chilly Ants, Fish Through The Green Fingernails And Come Up With The Four-leaf Clover.

God Went Out Of Me As If The Sea Dried Up Like Sandpaper, As If The Sun Became A Latrine.

I Can Only Sign Over Everything, The House, The Dog, The Ladders, The Jewels, The Soul, The Family Tree, The Mailbox. Then I Can Sleep. Maybe.

... Man Is Eating The Earth Up Like A Candy Bar.

It's All A Matter Of History. Brandy Is No Solace. Librium Only Lies Me Down Like A Dead Snow Queen. Yes! I Am Still The Criminal.