Everything I tell you is a story, or a part of one, and I’ve no inclination-desire to be less esoteric, only to be more poetic. The tussle with content and form, with self, in fact, un-fact, and all its reconstructions, even selflessness with the “I think” qualifier to down-tone the pathology, and how and in […]
There’s a hole in my chest where the truth’s supposed to be. There’s a hole in my head where this creation’s supposed to be. I’ll pour everything in, I wonder, filling it, suppose, and what will be left. What will, answered, but French-braided ambiguity.
Esmeralda, how much of what we do is out of fear of humiliation? I fill people up with my secrets like little pools and walk away when I can no longer stand to see what they reflect. All I ever wanted was to make it out of Texas out of that dream like Texas vast […]
If I sit down now I’ll never get up again and then we’ll never know. If we never know we’ll never go. I know.