Once A Happy Old Man One Can

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

It Is Because Everything Is Relative That We Shall Never See In That Sphere Of Pure Wisdom And Entertainment Much More Than Groping Shadows Of An Incomplete Former Existence So Close It Burns Like The Mouth That Closes Down Over All Your Effort Like The Moment Of Death

What Is The Past, What Is It All For? A Mental Sandwich?

I Write With Experiences In Mind, But I Don't Write About Them, I Write Out Of Them.

I'm Heading For A Clean-named Place Like Wisconsin, And Mad As A Jack-o'-lantern, Will Get There Without Help And Nosy Proclivities.