Pressure cranks and presses Life, squeezing out essence of self, aromatic with bittersweet memories, pungent adversities, and the honey-musk of desire — the vapors hover over our inkpots, and if we pick up the feather it becomes our poetry. – Terri Guillemets
The first glass is a sedative, the second a psychologist, the third glass an excuse, and the fourth a lobotomy. – Terri Guillemets