...i Am The Immense Shadow Of My

The Day We Stop Resisting Our Instincts, We'll Have Learned How To Live.

The Poem, The Song, The Picture, Is Only Water Drawn From The Well Of The People, And It Should Be Given Back To Them In A Cup Of Beauty So That They May Drink - And In Drinking Understand Themselves.

While The Poet Wrestles With The Horses On His Brain And The Sculptor Wounds His Eyes On The Hard Spark Of Alabaster, The Dancer Battles The Air Around Her, Air That Threatens At Any Moment To Destroy Her Harmony Or To Open Huge Open Empty Spaces Where Her Rhythm Will Be Annihilated.

With Their Souls Of Patent Leather, They Come Down The Road. Hunched And Nocturnal, Where They Breathe They Impose, Silence Of Dark Rubber, And Fear Of Fine Sand.

I Have Often Lost Myself In The Sea, Ears Full Of Newly Cut Flowers, Tongue Full Of Love And Agony.