Everything Is An Illusion; That Is The

Ugster Vinyl Pumps, Partridge Family Records, Plastic Daisy Jewelry, Old Postcards. . . . It's A Magpie Christmas Market.

I Wrote Poetry From The Time I Could Write. That Was The Only Way I Could Begin To Express Who I Was But The Poems Didn't Make Sense To My Teachers. They Didn't Rhyme. They Were About The Wind Sounds, The Planets' Motions, Never About Who I Was Or How I Felt. I Didn't Think I Felt Anything. I Was This Mind More Than A Body Or A Heart. My Mind Photographing The Stars, Hearing The Wind.

If You Were A Mermaid, You Said, If You Were A Mermaid, I Was The Sea.

Our Stories Can Set Us Free. When We Set Them Free.

My Heart Is A Teacup With Hairline Cracks. I Feel Like I Have To Walk Real Carefully So It Won't Get Shaken And Just All Shatter And Break.