Mexicans Don't Think Of Ghosts As Haunting

I Also Learned To Tell A Story. I Think I Learned From Poetry How To Time A Story. Poetry's Timing, Beats And Pauses. That White Space On The Page Is As Important As The Black. The Bottom Of The Page Is Blackout. It's Performance.

The Ego's Blocking The Light From Coming.

I Realize That It's Like Spices In The Kitchen. I Need That Turmeric. I'm Sorry, But Cinnamon Isn't Going To Substitute . I Feel That I Can Teach My Listener About A New Word They Can Use Too. "well, What Words Are Part Of My Own Community, Even If I'm Monolingual, That I'm Not Allowing Myself To Use In A Public Sphere?"

In The Past I Was Very Open And Very Generous, And I Found That It Just Exploded In My Face. A Lot Of People Weren't There For Me When I Needed Them. So I Have Become A Little Shell Shocked. Subsequently Almost Paranoid And Frightened Of People Now. Maybe I'm Losing Out In Meeting Some Marvelous People, But I Am Doing The Only Thing I Can To Save My Spirit.

Everything Is Holding Its Breath Inside Me. Everything Is Waiting To Explode Like Christmas. I Want To Be All New And Shiny. I Want To Sit Out Bad At Night, A Boy Around My Neck And The Wind Under My Skirt. Not This Way, Every Evening Talking To The Trees, Leaning Out My Window, Imagining What I Can't See.