Imagine A Painter Crucified By His Subject!

One Can Lose A Good Idea By Not Writing It Down, Yet By Losing It One Can Have It: It Nourishes Other Asides It Knows Nothing Of, Would Not Recognize Itself In, Yet When The Negotiations Are Terminated, Speaks In The Acts Of That Progenitor, And Does Recognize Itself, Is Grateful For Not Having Done So Earlier.

The Poem Is Sad Because It Wants To Be Yours, And Cannot Be.

Until Only Infinity Remained Of Beauty

The Facts Of History Have Been Too Well Rehearsed.

I Am Often Asked Why I Write, And I Don't Know Really--i Just Want To.