In The American Soul There

I've Got Death Inside Me. It's Just A Question Of Whether Or Not I Can Outlive It.

Say Heat. Say Wet Between My Legs. Say Legs. Seriously, I Want You To. Stockings. Whisper It. The Word Is Meant To Be Whispered.

Fear Is Self-awareness Raised To A Higher Level.

There Were Moments When She Wasn't Talking So Much As Fading Into Time, Dropping Back Into Some Funnelled Stretch Of Recent Past.

I Would Never Write In Response To What I Believe The Public Wanted Or Needed.