There's No Money In Poetry, But Then

Entrance And Exit Wounds Are Silvered Clean, The Track Aches Only When The Rain Reminds. The One-legged Man Forgets His Leg Of Wood, The One-armed Man His Jointed Wooden Arm. The Blinded Man Sees With His Ears And Hands As Much Or More Than Once With Both His Eyes.

Fact Is Not Truth, But A Poet Who Wilfully Defies Fact Cannot Achieve Truth.

For I Now Realize That What Overcame Me That Evening Was A Sudden Awareness Of The Power Of Intuition, The Supra-logic That Cuts Out All Routine Processes Of Thought And Leaps Straight From Problem To Answer.

If I Were A Girl, I'd Despair. The Supply Of Good Women Far Exceeds That Of The Men Who Deserve Them.

One Smile Relieves A Heart That Grieves.