I Hate Men Who Are Afraid Of

We Love Best Those Who Are, Or Act For Us, A Self We Do Not Wish To Be Or Act Out.

A Leaf Fluttered In Through The Window This Morning, As If Supported By The Rays Of The Sun, A Bird Settled On The Fire Escape, Joy In The Task Of Coffee, Joy Accompanied Me As I Walked.

The Poet Is One Who Is Able To Keep The Fresh Vision Of The Child Alive.

If You Can't Create, You Destroy.

One Discovers That Destiny Can Be Diverted, That One Does Not Have To Remain In Bondage To The First Wax Imprint Made On Childhood Sensibilities. Once The Deforming Mirror Has Been Smashed, There Is A Possibility Of Wholeness. There Is A Possibility Of Joy.