If Your Hand Doesn't Work For It,

You Know How You Finish A Bag Of Chips And You Hate Yourself? You Know You’ve Done Nothing Good For Yourself. That’s The Same Feeling, And You Know It Is, After Some Digital Binge. You Feel Wasted And Hollow And Diminished.

His Lies Were So Exquisite I Almost Wept.

But What I Really Want Is To Just Swim Around In A Warm Baby Pool Of These Friends, Jump In Their Dry Leaf Pile-to Rub Them All Over Myself, Without Words And Clothes.

I Don't Mean To Beat A Made-in-america Drum, But I Would Be Lying If I Said It Doesn't Feel Somehow Right To Be Printing Books In The U.s.

I've Always Been Interested In The Form Itself, So I Always Feel Like I've Never Been Good At Going Ahead With The Artifice And Not Acknowledging The Self In The Artistic Process, And Not Acknowledging The Absurdity Of Pretending That's Required In Fiction.