What Passes For News Is Just Morbid

A Food Truce, The Picnic Suspension Of Oedipal Feeling That Permits The Generations To Love Each Other At Family Reunions.

I Often Felt Myself To Be An Outsider, Which Is Great Training For All Writers.

My Older Sister Has Entire Kingdoms Inside Of Her, And Some Of Them Are Only Accessible At Certain Seasons, In Certain Kinds Of Weather. One Such Melting Occurs In Summer Rain, At Midnight, During The Vine-green Breathing Time Right Before Sleep. You Have To Ask The Right Question, Throw The Right Rope Bridge, To Get There-and Then Bolt Across The Chasm Between You, Before Your Bridge Collapses.

"i'm Not Going Anywhere," She Told Me That Night. But Until We Are Old Ladies-a Cypress Age, A Sawtooth Age-i Will Continue To Link Arms With Her, In Public, In Private, In A Panic Of Love.

Pain Collected Into Deep Pockets And I Was Aware Of This Painbut Somehow I Could Not Seem To Feel It. It Was Like A Body-deafness.