Atlantis Will Rise Again.

A Poem Is Energy Transferred From Where The Poet Got It (he Will Have Some Several Causations), By Way Of The Poem Itself To, All The Way Over To, The Reader.

The Body Whips The Soul. In Its Great Desire It Demands The Elixir In The Roar Of Spring, Transmutations.

Is It Not The Play Of The Mind We Are After? Is It Not That That Shows A Mind Is There At All?

I'm One Of The Cliches That Has Grown Up.

And All Now Is War Where So Lately There Was Peace, And The Sweet Brotherhood, The Use Of Tilled Fields.