Women have waited millions of years, growing separate as another species, with visions and priorities no man-words, no man-measurements can comprehend.

Like I'm dragging bundles of old clothes? I'm carrying artifacts that breathe fire. I'm talking about a language of smoke. These are three-dimensional creatures that can mate. I'd no more leave them go by the side of the trail than I would my child. I'll carry them until someone amputates my arms.

All my friends are artists, so I am used to collective agony as a mode.

Women are defined by their biography, and men are sacrosanct from their biography.

If you can be anything else but a writer, be it.

I write a lot by sound. One sound leads me to another. These sounds aren't random; they have their own logic.

Whenever I get lost in a novel I just throw a poem in. What it does is flare up, and it's so illuminated that I'm able to see where to go. I write between these illuminations.