It's Not Wise To Violate Rules Until

It's Strange That Words Are So Inadequate. Yet, Like The Asthmatic Struggling For Breath, So The Lover Must Struggle For Words.

We Read Many Books, Because We Cannot Know Enough People.

O Father, Father Gone From Us, Lost To Us, The Church Lies Bereft, Alone, Desecrated, Desolated. And The Heathen Shall Build On The Ruins Their World Without God. I See It. I See It.

Poetry Is Not A Turning Loose Of Emotion, But An Escape From Emotion.

Here I Am, An Old Man In A Dry Month, Being Read To By A Boy, Waiting For Rain.