Our Names Were Made For Us In

Burn All The Maps To Your Body. I'm Not Here Of My Own Choosing.

My Teachers Could Easily Have Ridden With Jesse James For All The Time They Stole From Me.

Im Haunted A Little This Evening By Feelings That Have No Vocabulary And Events That Should Be Explained In Dimensions Of Lint Rather Than Words. Ive Been Examining Half-scraps Of My Childhood. They Are Pieces Of Distant Life That Have No Form Or Meaning. They Are Things That Just Happened Like Lint.

All Girls Should Have A Poem Written For Them Even If We Have To Turn This Goddamn World Upside Down To Do It.

I Like To Think (it Has To Be!) Of A Cybernetic Ecology Where We Are Free Of Our Labors And Joined Back To Nature, Returned To Our Mammal Brothers And Sisters, And All Watched Over By Machines Of Loving Grace.