I Have Reached No Conclusions, Have Erected

The Walk Liberating, I Was Released From Forms, From The Perpendiculars, Straight Lines, Blocks, Boxes, Binds Of Thought Into The Hues, Shadings, Rises, Flowing Bends And Blends Of Sight.

If We Ask A Vague Question, Such As, 'what Is Poetry?' We Expect A Vague Answer, Such As, 'poetry Is The Music Of Words,' Or 'poetry Is The Linguistic Correction Of Disorder.'

The White Sun Like A Moth On A String Circles The Southpole.

I Am Grateful For - Though I Can't Keep Up With - The Flood Of Articles, Theses, And Textbooks That Mean To Share Insight Concerning The Nature Of Poetry.

The Wonderful Workings Of The World: Wonderful, Wonderful: I'm Surprised Half The Time