I Lose And Find Myself In The

The Indignity Of It!- With Everything Blooming Above Me, Lilies, Pale-pink Cyclamen, Roses, Whole Fields Lovely And Inviolate,- Me Down In The Fetor Of Weeds, Crawling On All Fours, Alive, In A Slippery Grave.

Any Fool Can Take A Bad Line Out Of A Poem; It Takes A Real Pro To Throw Out A Good Line.

I Can't Go On Flying Apart Just For Those Who Want The Benefit Of A Few Verbal Kicks. My God, Do You Know What Poems Like That Cost? They're Not Written Vicariously: They Come Out Of Actual Suffering, Real Madness.

A Lively Understandable Spirit Once Entertained You. It Will Come Again. Be Still. Wait.

I Am Overwhelmed By The Beautiful Disorder Of Poetry, The Eternal Virginity Of Words.