It Was Just Enough To Sit There

I Want To Hear What's Happened To You," She Said Evenly After A While. She Gestured In The Direction, Down River, Of The Butcher Shop. "it's Just That There Is Nowhere Else To Start," She Said Gently. "niether Of Us Is The Same. But I'm Different Because Of Small, Good, Manageable Things. You're Different Because ... Things I Don't Know.

Old Love, Middle Love, The Kind Of Love That Knows Itself And Knows That Nothing Lasts, Is A Desperate Shared Wildness.

To Be Of Mixed Blood Is A Great Gift For A Writer. I Have One Foot On Tribal Lands And One Foot In Middle-class Life.

If Life's A Joke, Then Suicide's A Bad Punch Line.

Cold Sinks In, There To Stay. And People, They'll Leave You, Sure. There's No Return To What Was And No Way Back. There's Just Emptiness All Around, And You In It, Like Singing Up From The Bottom Of A Well, Like Nothing Else, Until You Harm Yourself, Until You Are A Mad Dog Biting Yourself For Sympathy. Because There Is No Relenting.