I Am Waiting For The Lost Music

The State Of The World Calls Out For Poetry To Save It.

The Poet Like An Acrobat Climbs On Rime To A High Wire Of His Own Making.

[in The True Mad North] Of Introspection, Where 'falcons Of The Inner Eye' Dive And Die, Glimpsing In Their Dying Fall, All Life's Memory Of Existence.

I Am Waiting For The Lost Music To Sound Again In A New Rebirth Of Wonder.

Constantly Risking Absurdity And Death Whenever He Performs Above The Heads Of His Audience, The Poet, Like An Acrobat, Climbs On Rhyme To A High Wire Of His Own Making.