Without the luxury of other people’s language, the stilt of propriety, the ego involved when you try to impress people, you strip yourself down to very little.

I write by ear, and sound is what leads me to what I’m rummaging for.

I'm ashamed of my cheap rodeo, so I keep it secret from my friends.

Media companies need freelancers more, but show their love less and less.

My edition was hardbound and dusty. Nightmares notwithstanding, the time was right.

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A poem from the new book, "Transforming Terror: Remembering the Soul of the World."

"Is it still running or is it flying now?" A new novel explores what happens when we have to choose our race and our culture, with a refreshing character who is anything but tragic.

Here's a poem that has not been revised or rewritten

Wonder, terror, awe: emotions that are no longer part of our experience. Science has disenchanted the world; technology has robbed it of its threats.