Anatomy

I think of my prose as muscular and my poetry as all broken bones and blood.  There isn't any skin because I don't trust what it does.

Alternatively, the wind blows open the door, the house howls, and I can open my mouth and explode from the inrush of freezing night, or I can sing so hard it pushes the outside back outside.  But I can't shut the door.  I could never forgive myself.

I've finally made an appointment to get a tattoo lightened so I can cover it over with a much better one.

The Mississippi basin holds the continent's endocrine system.