I Don't Look On Poetry As Closed

The Mind Is So Hospitable, Taking In Everything Like Boarders, And You Don't See Until It's All Over How Little There Was To Learn Once The Stench Of Knowledge Has Dissipated.

Expecting Rain, The Profile Of A Day Wears Its Soul Like A Hat.

To The Poet As A Basement Quilt, But Perhaps To Some Reader A Latticework Of Regrets.

What I Like About Music Is Its Ability To Be Convincing, To Carry An Argument Through Successfully To The Finish, Though The Terms Of The Argument Remain Unknown Quantities.

This Whole Moment Is The Groin Of A Borborygmic Giant Who Even Now Is Rolling Over On Us In His Sleep.