Work from pithy middle eye out, swimming in language sea.
That's the story of my life rich or poor and mostly poor and truly poor.
I promise I shall never give up, and that I'll die yelling & laughing.
We lay on our backs looking at the ceiling and wondering what God had wrought when he made life so sad and disinclined.
Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for yr own joy
Soon it got dusk, a grapy dusk, a purple dusk over tangerine groves and long melon fields; the sun the color of pressed grapes, slashed with burgandy red, the fields the color of love and Spanish mysteries.