To Be Of Mixed Blood Is A

Power Travels In The Bloodlines, Handed Out Before Birth.

I Did Not Choose Solitude. Who Would? It Came On Me Like A Kind Of Vocation, Demanding An Effort That Married Women Can't Picture.

Hunger Steals The Memory

We Passed Over In A Sweep Of Sorrow That Would Persist Into Our Small Forever. We Just Keep Going.

It Kills Your Writing If You Try To Manipulate It With Crude Politics.