When my dreams showed signs, then I began to wonder.
Everything we write—and this—is verbal privilege.
Try sitting at a typewriter; the breath of your planet.
It doesn’t matter what you think, and this is verbal privilege.
Suppose you want to write? You have to know these things:
Poet, sister: words—of North American time.
I am thinking this in a country.
I need to know these things.
Sometimes, gliding at night is meant to break my heart and reduce me to silence.
In North America time stumbles on and I start to speak again.