I Was Good At Digging Holes. It

I Look At My Homely Sketch. It Doesn't Need Anything. Even Through The River In My Eyes I Can See That. It Isn't Perfect And That Makes It Just Right.

This Girl Shivers And Crawls Under The Covers With All Her Clothes On And Falls Into An Overdue Library Book, A Faerie Story With Rats And Marrow And Burning Curses. The Sentences Build A Fence Around Her, A Times Roman 10-point Barricade, To Keep The Thorny Voices In Her Head From Getting Too Close.

The Trick To Surviving An Interrogation Is Patience. Don't Offer Up Anything. Don't Explain. Answer The Question And Only The Question That Is Asked So You Don't Accidentally Put Your Head In A Noose.

Conjugate This: I Cut Class, You Cut Class, He, She, It Cuts Class. We Cut Class, They Cut Class. We All Cut Class. I Cannot Say This In Spanish Because I Did Not Go To Spanish Today. Gracias A Dios. Hasta Luego.

My Face Becomes A Picasso Sketch, My Body Slicing Into Pieces.