God, how I ricochet between certainties and doubts.

Nothing stinks like a pile of unpublished writing.

Secretly, in studies and attics and schoolrooms all over America, people must be writing.

I need some older, wiser being to cry to. I talk to God, but the sky is empty, and Orion walks by and doesn't speak.

The day I went into physics class it was death.

I am silver and exact.I have no preconceptions.

Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams.