As I Am. As I Am. All

Whatever Else Is Unsure In This Stinking Dunghill Of A World A Mother's Love Is Not.

My Words In Her Mind: Cold Polished Stones Sinking Through A Quagmire.

To Learn One Must Be Humble. But Life Is The Great Teacher.

[...] A Darkness Shining In Brightness Which Brightness Could Not Comprehend.

Poetry, Even When Apparently Most Fantastic, Is Always A Revolt Against Artifice, A Revolt, In A Sense, Against Actuality. It Speaks Of What Seems Fantastic And Unreal To Those Who Have Lost The Simple Intuitions Which Are The Test Of Reality; And, As It Is Often Found At War With Its Age, So It Makes No Account Of History, Which Is Fabled By The Daughters Of Memory.