Be What You Are. Give What Is

Forward My Mail To Mars.

Poetry Is Ultimately Mythology, The Telling Of Stories Of The Soul. The Old Myths, The Old Gods, The Old Heroes Have Never Died. They Are Only Sleeping At The Bottom Of Our Minds, Waiting For Our Call. We Have Need Of Them, For In Their Sum They Epitomize The Wisdom And Experience Of The Race.

Deftly They Opened The Brain Of A Child, And It Was Full Of Flying Dreams.

How Shall The Heart Be Reconciled / To Its Feast Of Losses?

In A Murderous Time/the Heart Breaks And Breaks/and Lives By Breaking.