I Want To Be A Poet, From

Moon Like A Large Stainedglass Window That Breaks On The Ocean.

Relish The Fresh Landscape Of My Wound, Break Rushes And Delicate Rivulets, Drink Blood Poured On Honeyed Thigh.

Not For A Moment, Beautiful Aged Walt Whitman, Have I Failed To See Your Beard Full Of Butterflies.

Life Is Laughter Amid A Rosary Of Death.

Seville Is A Tower Full Of Fine Archers.... Under The Arch Of The Sky, Across The Clear Plain, She Shoots The Constant Arrow Of Her River.