Beware The Easy Griefs / That Fool

A Poem Doesn't Do Everything For You. You Are Supposed To Go On With Your Thinking. You Are Supposed To Enrich The Other Person's Poem With Your Extensions, Your Uniquely Personal Understandings, Thus Making The Poem Serve You.

At A Certain Moment In Social Proceedings, I Am On Fire To Leave: I Have A Leaving-fit.

I Swear To Keep The Dead Upon My Mind, / Disdain For All Time To Be Overglad.

There Are No Magics Or Elves / Or Timely Godmothers To Guide Us. We Are Lost, Must / Wizard A Track Through Our Own Screaming Weed.

I've Always Thought Of Myself As A Reporter.