To Be Saved Is Here, Local And

With The First Step, The Number Of Shapes The Walk Might Take Is Infinite, But Then The Walk Begins To Define Itself As It Goes Along, Though Freedom Remains Total With Each Step: Any Tempting Side Road Can Be Turned Into An Impulse, Or Any Wild Patch Of Woods Can Be Explored. The Pattern Of The Walk Is To Come True, Is To Be Recognized, Discovered.

Where But In The Very Asshole Of Comedown Is Redemption: As Where But Brought Low, Where But In The Grief Of Failure, Loss, Error Do We Discern The Savage Afflictions That Turn Us Around: Where But In The Arrangements Love Crawls Us Through

You Have Your Identity When You Find Out, Not What You Can Keep Your Mind On, But What You Can't Keep Your Mind Off.

I Have Reached No Conclusions, Have Erected No Boundaries, Shutting Out And Shutting In, Separating Inside From Outside: I Have Drawn No Lines

Poetry Leads Us To The Unstructured Sources Of Our Beings, To The Unknown, And Returns Us To Our Rational, Structured Selves Refreshed.