In Her Bottled Up Is A Woman

Art Is A Game Only If You Playat It, A Mirror That Reflects From The Inside Out.

Sometimes When A Character In A Novel Is Difficult For Me To Enter, I Sue Something In Myself Or In My Own Life As A Doorway Into That Character's Mind And Emotions.

Nobody Can Live On A Bridge Or Plant Potatoes But It Is Fine For Comings And Goings, Meetings, Partings And Long Views And A Real Connection To Someplace Else Where You May In The Crazy Weathers Of Struggle How And Again Want To Be.

Every Poet Has A Certain Amount Of "stuff." That's What You Draw From For Imagery. The More Stuff You Know Well, Not Simply Intellectually But Sensually, Emotionally, Intimately, The Wider The Pool From Which You Draw.

Nobody Hates Us As Ourselves. In Their Minds We're Not Human... They Don't Hate Us Because We Did Something Or Said Something. They Make Us Stand For An Evil They Invent And Then They Want To Kill It In Us.