About Suffering They Were Never Wrong, The

Our Claim To Our Own Bodies And Our World Is Our Catastrophe.

See Without Looking, Hear Without Listening, Breathe Without Asking.

A Poet's Hope: To Be, Like Some Valley Cheese, Local, But Prized Elsewhere.

Nobody Is Ever Sent To Hell: He Or She Insists On Going There.

There Must Always Be Two Kinds Of Art: Escape-art, For Man Needs Escape As He Needs Food And Deep Sleep, And Parable-art, That Art Which Shall Teach Man To Unlearn Hatred And Learn Love.