God Give You Pardon From Gratitude And

The Awful Thing, As A Kid Reading, Was That You Came To The End Of The Story, And That Was It. I Mean, It Would Be Heartbreaking That There Was No More Of It.

Locale Is Both A Geographic Term And The Inner Sense Of Being.

I Know This Body Is Impatient. I Know I Constitute Only A Meager Voice And Mind. Yet I Loved, I Love. I Want No Sentimentality. I Want No More Than Home.

Still, No One Finally Knows What A Poet Is Supposed Either To Be Or To Do. Especially In This Country, One Takes On The Job—because All That One Does In America Is Considered A "job"—with No Clear Sense As To What Is Required Or Where One Will Ultimately Be Led. In That Respect, It Is As Particular An Instance Of A "calling" As One Might Point To. For Years I've Kept In Mind, "many Are Called But Few Are Chosen." Even So "called," There Were No Assurances That One Would Be Answered.

My Wife And I Lived All Alone, Contention Was Our Only Bone. I Fought With Her, She Fought With Me, And Things Went On Right Merrily. But Now I Live Here By Myself With Hardly A Damn Thing On The Shelf, And Pass My Days With Little Cheer Since I Have Parted From My Dear.