The Witch's Life" When I was a child there was an old woman in our neighborhood whom we called The Witch. All day she peered from her second story window from behind the wrinkled curtains and sometimes she would open the window and yell: Get out of my life! She had hair like kelp and a voice like a boulder. I think of her sometimes now and wonder if I am becoming her.

Love your self's self where it lives.

Well, one gets out of bed and the planets don't always hiss or muck up the day, each day.

Thief!- how did you crawl into, crawl down alone into the death I wanted so badly and for so long.

A woman who writes feels too much.

I am stuffing your mouth with your promises and watching you vomit them out upon my face.

Do you like me?” No answer. Silence bounced, fell off his tongue and sat between us and clogged my throat. It slaughtered my trust. It tore cigarettes out of my mouth. We exchanged blind words, and I did not cry, I did not beg, but blackness filled my ears, blackness lunged in my heart, and something that had been good, a sort of kindly oxygen, turned into a gas oven.