Insomnia" Perhaps She's A Daytime Sleeper.

It Is Like What We Imagine Knowledge To Be: Dark, Salt, Clear, Moving, Utterly Free.

Being A Poet Is One Of The Unhealthier Jobs--no Regular Hours, So Many Temptations!

I Caught A Tremendous Fish And Held Him Beside The Boat Half Out Of Water, With My Hook Fast In A Corner Of His Mouth. He Didn't Fight. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I Stared And Stared And Victory Filled Up The Little Rented Boat From The Pool Of Bilge Where Oil Had Spread A Rainbow Around The Rusted Engine To The Bailer Rusted Orange, The Sun-cracked Thwarts The Oarlocks On Their Strings, The Gunnels-until Everything Was Rainbow, Rainbow, Rainbow! And I Let The Fish Go.

And As To Experience-well, Think How Little Some Good Poets Have Had, Or How Much Some Bad Ones Have.

It Is What We Imagine Knowledge To Be: Dark, Salt, Clear, Moving, Utterly Free, Drawn From The Cold Hard Mouth Of The World, Derived From The Rocky Breasts Forever, Flowing And Drawn, And Since Our Knowledge Is Historical, Flowing, And Flown.