Van Gogh was impulsive.

Not to dismiss Gershwin, but Gershwin is the chip; Ellington was the block.

There was this mountain village in Russia where my music was getting in on some German radio station. I remember this because music used to get up to Saskatchewan from Texas. Late at night after the local station closed down.

My husband had an education. He had a degree in Literature. I married into a camp of literary types.

Elusive dreams and vague desires fanned to fiery needs by deadly deeds of falling empires.

All the news of home you read, more about the war and of bloody changes.

Fibers in a variety of colors protrude out of my skin like mushrooms after a rainstorm. They cannot be forensically identified as animal, vegetable or mineral.