Never Will A Time Come When The

Time Is A Sandpile We Run Our Fingers In.

I Remember In My Early 20s When I Felt I Couldn't Live Past 30. I Was Learning How To Write. I Had A Lot Of Hard Work Ahead Of Me.

And All Poets Love Dust And Mist Because All The Last Answers. Go Running Back To Dust And Mist.

Lay Me On An Anvil, O God. Beat Me And Hammer Me Into A Steel Spike.

Poetry Is A Diary Kept By A Sea Creature Who Lives On Land And Wishes He Could Fly.