It Is Written In The Book Of

Once A Happy Old Man One Can Never Change The Core Of Things, And Light Burns You The Harder For It.

All Beauty, Resonance, Integrity, Exist By Deprivation Or Logic Of Strange Position.

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.

Until, Accustomed To Disappointments, You Can Let Yourself Rule And Be Ruled By These Strings Or Emanations That Connect Everything Together, You Haven't Fully Exorcised The Demon Of Doubt That Sets You In Motion Like A Rocking Horse That Cannot Stop Rocking.

Poetry Comes To Me Out Of Thin Air Or Out Of My Unconscious Mind. It's Sort Of The Way Dreams Come To Us And The Way That We Get Knowledge From Them, Through Television, Old Movies, Which I Watch A Lot Of. Lines Of Dialogue Suddenly Seem To Be Part Of A Poem.