We Can Only Know What We Can

Hope Sleeps In Our Bones Like A Bear Waiting For Spring To Rise And Walk.

I Want To Be With People Who Submerge In The Task, Who Go Into The Fields To Harvest And Work In A Row And Pass The Bags Along, Who Are Not Parlor Generals And Field Deserters But Move In A Common Rhythm When The Food Must Come In Or The Fire Be Put Out. The Work Of The World Is Common As Mud. Botched, It Smears The Hands, Crumbles To Dust. But The Thing Worth Doing Well Done Has A Shape That Satisfies, Clean And Evident.

All Women Are Misfits. We Do Not Fit Into This World Without Amputations.

People Are Very Afraid Of Any Controversy. We've Become Very Passive Spectator Types. And When The Kids Were Protesting Globilization - Quite Reasonably - They Really Got Bashed.

Too Much Self-regard Has Never Struck Me As Dignified: Trying To Twist Over My Shoulder To View My Own Behind.