Now all I was, all I had ever been, when it came down to it, was a tenant.
He will, no doubt, be out of this house soon, headed over to Montgomery.
We roasted mastodons. Designed skewers, ovens, steampits.
Elsewhere, perhaps here too, regimes stagger, a congress ends.
Grass grows, birds fly, waves pound the sand. I beat people up.
The mechanism and its crank pull us forever closer, you and I.
Through the dark, we say, through the dark: but do we ever really know?
I want you enough to gnash you into a silence made from pieces of silver.
Like lions in cages, women like me dream . . . of freedom . . .
I bled. God didn’t want to hear about it. He said unclean and so it was.
At 35,000 feet, the center of heaven, in the deep Milky Way, we meet.
Instead, she stares right at us, her shoulder half-naked in broad daylight.
You are home in your bed like a soft animal with really intense feelers.
The year we left the reservation a white boy gave me a trash bag.
We were assigned straight to the lion’s muzzle, the Sardasht front.
What is greater: the distance between these bodies, or their need?
When the thugs from the bank showed, up my father laughed.
I was free. The first step had been taken, and it was irrevocable.
There’s something I saw at the race meeting I can’t figure out.
May your wife remove her shirt and have an affair with a tornado.
At nineteen I lived for three months as an earnest cocaine addict.
I’ve wavered in confidence, but never on whether I was going to write.
Do we hunger after conflict as much as we hunger after justice?
I came to computers while trying to run away from literature.
I’m told that even during war, she took the time to put on lipstick.
It’s wrong to say the lightning is pink is nothing other than to say it’s not.
Live Dangerously! If you get hurt, the suffering will bring a new being.
The library is inhabited by spirits that come out of the pages at night.
You quickly find nothing interests people so much as themselves.