I Have Gone Into The Waste Lonely

I Have Gone Into The Waste Lonely Places

The Fields Stretch Out In Long Unbroken Rows. We Walk Aware Of What Is Far And Close. Here Distance Is Familiar As A Friend. The Feud We Kept With Space Comes To An End.

In This Place Of Light: He Dares To Live Who Stops Being A Bird, Yet Beats His Wings Against The Immense Immeasurable Emptiness Of Things.

I Can't Go On Flying Apart Just For Those Who Want The Benefit Of A Few Verbal Kicks. My God, Do You Know What Poems Like That Cost? They're Not Written Vicariously: They Come Out Of Actual Suffering, Real Madness.

What's Important? That Which Is Dug Out Of Books, Or Out Of The Guts?