Happy. Just in my swim shorts, barefooted, wild-haired, in the red fire dark, singing, swigging wine, spitting, jumping, running - that's the way to live. All alone and free in the soft sands of the beach.

Prison is where you promise yourself the right to live.

Swinging on delicate hinges the autumn leaf almost off the stem.

Desolation, desolation, I owe so much to desolation.

Here I was at the end of America...no more land...and nowhere was nowhere to go but back

As we crossed the Colorado-Utah border I saw God in the sky in the form of huge gold sunburning clouds above the desert that seemed to point a finger at me and say, "Pass here and go on, you're on the road to heaven.

Bee, why are you staring at me? I am not a flower??