Sure The World Breeds Monsters, But Kindness

I'd Spent Way More Years Worrying About How To Look Like A Poet -- Buying Black Clothes, Smearing On Scarlet Lipstick, Languidly Draping Myself Over Thrift-store Furniture -- Than I Had Learning How To Assemble Words In Some Discernible Order.

Mother’s Particular Devils Had Remained Mysterious To Me For Decades. So Had Her Past. Few Born Liars Ever Intentionally Embark In Truth’s Direction, Even Those Who Believe That Such A Journey Might Axiomatically Set Them Free.

Sure The World Breeds Monsters, But Kindness Grows Just As Wild.

Poetry Is For Me Eucharistic. You Take Someone Else's Suffering Into Your Body, Their Passion Comes Into Your Body, And In Doing That You Commune, You Take Communion, You Make A Community With Others.

Childhood Was Terrifying For Me. A Kid Has No Control. You’re Three Feet Tall, Flat Broke, Unemployed, And Illiterate. Terror Snaps You Awake. You Pay Keen Attention. People Can Just Pick You Up And Move You And Put You Down.