Prose Is Walking; Poetry Is Flying

The First Step... Shall Be To Lose The Way.

Never Mind. The Self Is The Least Of It. Let Our Scars Fall In Love.

Go So Deep Into Yourself, You Speak For Everyone.

I Have Always Intended To Live Forever; But Not Until Now, To Live Now.

Goodbye, You Who Are, For Me, The Postmarks Again Of Shattered Towns--xenia, Burnt Cabins, Hornell-- Their Loneliness Given Away In Poems, Only Their Solitude Kept.