--It's like being really really hungry and so thinking of all the different cookies and sweets you can eat and then having all of them in front of you at some wonderful, glittery party and being able to eat only one because after that, your stomach is full. i need to stretch it out, tug on it absentmindedly like leather. that's what all this is about.

it's also like lying in bed and your warm bladder filling up with nighttime urin and you mind urging you to stand and your eiderdown pressing you into the ground so coddleingly that you never want to get up but eventually your insides are bursting with waste that must be emptied, poured from a bucket into the moons soil. you feel much better afterwards.

--i want to be naked, but it is cold.

--i make mirrors, and i love looking in them so much, i cannot sell them even though they want to be traded.

--i could stare at my breasts for hours. mountain mama. they are so light and fluffy, they are like a pile of whipped cream but much smoother, much much smoother and pinker. my nipples react to the slight changes of temperature with different sorts of stances, stretching like flowerstems towards the sun. i press the leg of my glasses, like an overgrown insect, into the skin and it bounces, like a trampoline. my breasts are the softest color i've ever seen, so lovely and light to look at, like a pretty girl or a tadpole pond in the late evening. they yearn to be used to be pressed and gathered and nibbled. they are so kind in their yeilding to the word, so maginificant that they can be so delicate and yet never hide: here i am, like a constellation!

my nipples have bumps that gather and pucker, and i run my fingers over like braile in soft wood, reading the signs that they are telling me, communicating with the worries inside of me: saying, you have it all! give it go, let it float.

it is the children, the ones who would need to suckle, that know, blowing dandelion seeds to the sky, believing what i tell them that what they say will happen if they say it with enough fervor. the white tented stalks traipse along the wind, carrying a little boy and girls words, "i wish i could spend every day with you, every day with you."

and my breasts are taut and happy and they hear this with their pink, soft ears, and they think: you can! you can! you can.

- i look my animal and i put her in a cage and set her outside of my door, so her midnight yelps wouldn't wake me up. my guilt is overwelming me. then i saw the book he lent to me, the one about faith, and my guilt is down to my toes.