End With An Image And Don't Explain.

The Universe Is A Continuous Web. Touch It At Any Point And The Whole Web Quivers.

The Poem Comes In The Form Of A Blessing, Like Rapture Breaking On The Mind.

Forward My Mail To Mars.

A Poem Has Secrets That The Poet Knows Nothing Of.

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.