No One Here Likes A Wet Dog.

I Think What Gets A Poem Going Is An Initiating Line. Sometimes A First Line Will Occur, And It Goes Nowhere; But Other Times - And This, I Think, Is A Sense You Develop - I Can Tell That The Line Wants To Continue. If It Does, I Can Feel A Sense Of Momentum - The Poem Finds A Reason For Continuing.

And I Should Mention The Light Which Falls Through The Big Windows This Time Of Day Italicizing Everything It Touches.

You Will Always Be The Bread And The Knife, Not To Mention The Crystal Goblet And—somehow—the Wine.

Nationalism Is A Type Of Insanity In Which The Boundaries Of A Land Replace God.

Vade Mecum I Want The Scissors To Be Sharp And The Table Perfectly Level When You Cut Me Out Of My Life And Paste Me In That Book You Always Carry.