In My Writing, I Want

The First Kiss Plummeted Him Down A Hole And Popped Him Out Into A World He Thought He Could Get Along In—as If He’d Been Pulling Hard The Wrong Way And Was Now Turned Around Headed Downstream.

I'll Never Forget You. Your Husband Will Beat You With An Extension Cord And The Bus Will Pull Away Leaving You Standing There In Tears, But You Were My Mother.

Through This Feeling Of Helplessness Suddenly Burst A Piercing Nostalgia For The Lost World Of Childhood. The Way It Came Right Up Against The Heart, That World, And Against The Face. No Indoors Or Outdoors, Only Everything Touching Us, And The Grown-ups Lumbering Past Overhead Like Constellations.

All The Modern Verse Plays, They're Terrible; They're Mostly About The Poetry. It's More Important That The Play Is First.

Sometimes I Heard Voices Muttering In My Head, And A Lot Of The Time The World Seemed To Smolder Around Its Edges. But I Was In A Little Better Physical Shape Every Day, I Was Getting My Looks Back, And My Spirits Were Rising, And This Was All In All A Happy Time For Me. All These Weirdos, And Me Getting A Little Better Right In The Midst Of Them. I Had Never Known, Never Even Imagined For A Heartbeat, That There Might Be A Place For People Like Us.