Why Wasn't Christopher Columbus Able To Discover

The Word Was Born In The Blood, Grew In The Dark Body, Beating, And Took Flight Through The Lips And The Mouth. Farther Away And Nearer Still, Still It Came From Dead Fathers And From Wondering Races, From Lands Which Had Turned To Stone, Lands Weary Of Their Poor Tribes, For When Grief Took To The Roads The People Set Out And Arrived And Married New Land And Water To Grow Their Words Again. And So This Is The Inheritance; This Is The Wavelength Which Connects Us With Dead Men And The Dawning Of New Beings Not Yet Come To Light.

Sonnet Xxv Before I Loved You, Love, Nothing Was My Own: I Wavered Through The Streets, Among Objects: Nothing Mattered Or Had A Name: The World Was Made Of Air, Which Waited. I Knew Rooms Full Of Ashes, Tunnels Where The Moon Lived, Rough Warehouses That Growled 'get Lost', Questions That Insisted In The Sand. Everything Was Empty, Dead, Mute, Fallen Abandoned, And Decayed: Inconceivably Alien, It All Belonged To Someone Else - To No One: Till Your Beauty And Your Poverty Filled The Autumn Plentiful With Gifts.

And I, A Materialist Who Does Not Believe In The Starry Heaven Promised To A Human Being, For This Dog And For Every Dog I Believe In Heaven, Yes, I Believe In A Heaven That I Will Never Enter, But He Waits For Me Wagging His Big Fan Of A Tail So I, Soon To Arrive, Will Feel Welcomed.

I Am Made Of Earth, And My Song Made Of Words.

In Love, You Have Loosened Yourself Like Seawater