A Writer's Work Is To Witness Things.

The Question Of Whether It's God's Green Earth Is Not At Center Stage, Except In The Sense That If So, One Is Reminded With Some Regularity That He May Be Dying.

Animals Used To Provide A Lowlife Way To Kill And Get Away With It, As They Do Still, But, More Intriguingly, For Some People They Are An Aperture Through Which Wounds Drain. The Scapegoat Of Olden Times, Driven Off For The Bystanders Sins, Has Become A Tender Thing, A Running Injury. There, Running Away Is Me: Hurt It And You Are Hurting Me.

There Were Periods During My Childhood When I Stammered So Badly I Couldn't Talk At All.

Country People Tend To Consider That They Have A Corner On Righteousness And To Distrust Most Manifestations Of Cleverness, While People In The City Are Leery Of Righteousness But Ascribe To Themselves All Manner Of Cleverness.

Land Of Opportunity, Land For The Huddled Masses Where Would The Opportunity Have Been Without The Genocide Of Those Old Guard, Bristling Indian Tribes?