This World… Belongs To The Strong, My

Loved. You Can't Use It In The Past Tense. Death Does Not Stop That Love At All.

Then The Trembling Starts To Get Worse. This Must Be How They Begin, He Thinks. Freak-outs. Breakdowns. Crack-ups. Eventually Shut-ins And Finally Cross-offs. But First The Cover-up . . .

Living Is The Purpose Of Life, And Meaning Can Be Found Therein. I Finds Thou. Thou Becomes It. And It Begins Again.

The Job Of The Writer Is To Kiss No Ass, No Matter How Big And Holy And White And Tempting And Powerful.

You Can't Blame The President For The State Of The Country, It's Always The Poets' Fault. You Can't Expect Politicians To Come Up With A Vision, They Don't Have It In Them. Poets Have To Come Up With The Vision And They Have To Turn It On So It Sparks And Catches Hold.