How Shall The Heart Be Reconciled /

An Old Poet Ought Never To Be Caught With His Technique Showing.

A Poem Has Secrets That The Poet Knows Nothing Of.

I Have Walked Through Many Lives, Some Of Them My Own, And I Am Not Who I Was, Though Some Principle Of Being Abides, From Which I Struggle Not To Stray.

What Makes The Engine Go? Desire, Desire, Desire.

In My Darkest Night, When The Moon Was Covered And I Roamed Through Wreckage, A Nimbus-clouded Voice Directed Me: "live In The Layers, Not On The Litter." Though I Lack The Art To Decipher It, No Doubt The Next Chapter In My Book Of Transformations Is Already Written. I Am Not Done With My Changes.