I didn't become a writer because I stayed home. I became a writer because I left. I'm not a writer of abundance. I'm a writer of the bereft.  When I was six, I saw one Indian man press another Indian man's face against a stove burner burning orange and yet some people are still shocked to discover that I'm crazier than a flock of nostrils locked in a skunk factory.  I'm not a good teacher or preacher. I don't know how I write this stuff. I only know that I don't blame it on God.  I want you to love me more than you did before you read this poem.  The faucet drips, drips drips, drips, then pauses for a second then begins to drip, drip, drip again. What does this mean? It means that I find music in everything that I hear and see.  I take off my shirt to reveal my hurt.  I hope that I write my greatest poem on my deathbed. I'll be especially proud if I manage to say it aloud.  I'm a better man in my poems than I am in real life. Now will you try to convince me and yourself otherwise?