By Daily Dying, I Have Come To

Those Who Are Willing To Be Vulnerable Move Among Mysteries.

And What A Congress Of Stinks!- Roots Ripe As Old Bait, Pulpy Stems, Rank, Silo-rich, Leaf Mold, Manure, Lime, Piled Against Slippery Planks, Nothing Would Give Up Life: Even The Dirt Kept Breathing A Small Breath.

Any Fool Can Take A Bad Line Out Of A Poem; It Takes A Real Pro To Throw Out A Good Line.

Nothing Would Give Up Life: Even The Dirt Keeps Breathing A Small Breath.

When I Go Mad, I Call My Friends By Phone: I Am Afraid They Might Think They're Alone.