Reality, The Oppressor's Tongue.

We Assume That Politicians Are Without Honor. We Read Their Statements Trying To Crack The Code. The Scandals Of Their Politics: Not So Much That Men In High Places Lie, Only That They Do So With Such Indifference, So Endlessly, Still Expecting To Be Believed. We Are Accustomed To The Contempt Inherent In The Political Lie.

We Must Use What We Have To Invent What We Desire.

I Have An Inward Treasure Born With Me, Which Can Keep Me Alive If All The Extraneous Delights Should Be Withheld Or Offered Only At A Price I Cannot Afford To Give.

Poems Are Like Dreams: In Them You Put What You Don't Know You Know.

As Her Sons Have Seen Her: The Mother In Patriarchy: Controlling, Erotic, Castrating, Heart-suffering, Guilt-ridden, And Guilt-provoking; A Marble Brow, A Huge Breast, An Avid Cave; Between Her Legs Snakes, Swamp-grass, Or Teeth; On Her Lap A Helpless Infant Or A Martyred Son. She Exists For One Purpose: To Bear And Nourish The Son.