Whoever I am, I'm a fat woman. The space of a silhouette entering the space of a silence, curvatures of silk, caverns flooding, welcome to a canyon. She's a horse woman, a tennis match, a champion runner. She's an artist woman, a desert woman, a dancer. She's a fat woman, a fashion haul for dreams. She's a seeker, your lover, your sister, a dreamer, a bohemian, a thinker, your doctor. She's a healer. A psychic. Her stories will set you free. Urg Lady, masseuse, mathematician, architect, sexologist, closed designer, museum curator, sculptress, archaeologist, a farmer, a laughter's echo. She's a fat woman, a fat woman, a woman bound to cut this earth of the shadows inside her. Clif-hanger, ballroom dancer, go get her, bar tender, seamstiler, wheeler dealer, a leaper, a runner, a roller. She's a fat woman and she's breathing. The unknown woman, the woman who flavors her own song. She's a genius. She's extraordinary. She's an ordinary girl. She's a fat woman. Cab driver, copper welder, tea drinker, street walker, prude. She's a blue singer, a floutist, a drummer, a pinup girl, an ice skater, an ice cream lover, a Hindu, a hiker, a kite-flier, your shadow on the tightrope. She's a fat woman. Your shadow, a break mechanic, a concert cellist, a jazz saxophonist, leaping on laughter's echo, the rhythm of her life. Poet, playwright, witch, nun, Jew. Surfer, bathing beauty, high-heeled sexy tramp, scorpio-rising, rubanesque pearl, priestess, potter, shoe maker, hairstyles, jeweler, thank you, a furniture design. The woman procured by money, the woman who was heard above laughter, the woman who walks beyond the streets of desire, the woman who has always walked these streets with passion. The woman who has taken over the space of her body, and the woman who has refused to conquer that space. Worker, bohemian, boss, scholar, aristocrat, roadrunner, sailor, weaver, a fat girl, she's a wall flower, socializer, leader, rakeless wanderer, an advertisement for love. In lillian wrestle days, you'd follow her, her bare ankles, down the river's muddy edge by foot, making love to her on-warnees. She's a stallion, a fleet of rivers. Feel the woman whose rivers bay the mammoth luxury, tracing the moons that are inside her. She's an aesthetic woman, she's a plastic woman, she's a junkie, a hobo, a housekeeper, candle maker, chiropractor, stuck up bitch, fast-smiler, on welfare, or could be she's a fat woman, the silent woman, worn with a mask around herself, the woman who was challenged to a duel, the woman who was tortured, tied to the bed, raped, the woman who always sleeps in black, the woman who never says, excuse me, or smiles when she is supposed to. The woman whose existence is in question, rough, outrageous, dull, graceful, ingenious, exciting to be alive as being a fat woman. She's a deep sea diver, a windmill climber, a motorcycle mama and a bicycle rider. She's a fat woman, she's a snow shoveler, a short stopper, a wind lover, a heartbreaker. Certain truths will make your heart beat fast when you hear them from a fat woman. You'll grow pale, get chills, disbelieve, but she's marching toward you. She's here and she's taking back her life. A tough springer, a dead ringer. Watch the stones they throw here. We'll turn to looks of beauty. The stones they throw to works of art will turn to looks of beauty.