“(from: Age Sixty-nine)There is this circle I walkthat I have learned to love.I hope one day to be a spiralbut to the birds I'm a circle.”
“(from: Age Sixty-nine)Often, lately, the night is a cold mawand stars the scattered white teeth of the gods, which spare none of us. At dawn I have birds, clearly divine messengers that I don't understandyet day by day feel the grace of their intentions.”
“The only mofos in my circle are people that I can learn from.”
“Birds make great sky-circles of their freedom.How do they learn it?They fall and falling,they're given wings.”
“I'm sixty-nine years old, and I have no plans to run for reelection. Do you think I give a damn?”
“It was July. Crazy hot and dry. It hadn't rained in, like, sixty days. Drought hot. Scorpion hot. Vultures flying circles in the sky hot.”