He Was One Of Those Rare Men

Families Without Songs Are Unhappy Families.

We've Pretended Too Much In Our Family, Luke, And Hidden Far Too Much. I Think We're All Going To Pay A High Price For Our Inability To Face The Truth.

My Mother Raised Me To Be A Writer.

It Enclosed Us In Its Laceries As We Watched The Moon Spill Across The Atlantic Like Wine From An Overturned Glass. With The Light All Around Us, We Felt Secret In That Moon-infused Water Like Pearls Forming In The Soft Tissues Of Oysters.

I Still Write In Long Hand. I Type Like A Chimpanzee.