I weep flowers, I weep song, I bleed.

And she smiles and she utters unearthly things and she utters not in any known language, in stars and pain, pulque she says I am devouring time and the earth.

Here, we turn everything into art.

This book is an invention, an act of the imagination, and in no way should be mistaken for reality, the place where much good invention originates.

Deliriously imagined, The Mothering Coven is a work of wonder. Joanna Ruocco arrives: marvelous, and fully sprung!

So little goes with the body of a man. So much is left behind.

The Voice of the River is a beautifully written, deeply inclusive and profoundly spirtual work of art. I am moved by its great genorosity above all, and its wisdom. It is a gift like no other.

Huddled around the fire of the alphabet...

In the calm violence of your being, desire.

Truth be told, there is not one day that goes by when I don’t fall in love with someone, with something.