The First Task Of The Poet Is

In Every House Of Marriage There's Room For An Interpreter.

A Poem Has Secrets That The Poet Knows Nothing Of.

The Universe Is A Continuous Web. Touch It At Any Point And The Whole Web Quivers.

You Must Be Careful Not To Deprive The Poem Of Its Wild Origin.

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.