About Loving, I Have Little To Learn

It Is Clear That We Do Not Exactly Choose Our Poems; Our Poems Choose Us.

I Write Poems, Have Always Written Them, To Transcend The Painfully Personal And Reach The Universal.

A Man With A Talent Does What Is Expected Of Him, Makes His Way, Constructs, Is An Engineer, A Composer, A Builder Of Bridges. It's The Natural Order Of Things That He Construct Objects Outside Himself And His Family. The Woman Who Does So Is Aberrant. We Have To Expiate For This Cursed Talent Someone Handed Out To Us, By Mistake, In The Black Mystery Of Genetics.

Gardening Is The Instrument Of Grace.

In The Novel Or The Journal You Get The Journey. In A Poem You Get The Arrival.