Just To Be Is Holy, Just To

It's Something Everybody Wants-for Someone To See The Hurt Done To Them And Set It Down Like It Matters.

You Can Tell Which Girls Lack Mothers By The Look Of Their Hair.

I Felt Someone Should Personally Thank Every Rock Out There For The Human Misery It Had Absorbed. We Should Kiss Them One By One & Say, We Are Sorry, But Something Strong & Lasting Had To Do This For May, & You Are The Chosen Ones. God Bless Your Rock Hearts.

All That Paddling Around In The Alphabet Soup Of One's Childhood, Scooping Up Letters, Hoping To Arrange Them Into Enlightening Sentences That Would Explain Why Things Had Turned Out The Way They Had. It Evoked A Certain Mutiny In Me.

When Had My Fear Of Broken Plates Gotten So Grandiose? My Desire For Extravagant Moments So Small?