No One Here Likes A Wet Dog.

A Sentence Starts Out Like A Lone Traveler Heading Into A Blizzard At Midnight, Tilting Into The Wind, One Arm Shielding His Face, The Tails Of His Thin Coat Flapping Behind Him.

It Is As If One By One, The Memories You Used To Harbor Decided To Retire To The Southern Hemisphere Of The Brain.

Often People, When They're Confronted With A Poem, It's Like Someone Who Keep Saying 'what Is The Meaning Of This? What Is The Meaning Of This?' And That Dulls Us To The Other Pleasures Poetry Offers.

There's This Pet Phrase About Writing That Is Bandied Around Particularly In Workshops About "finding Your Own Voice As A Poet", Which I Suppose Means That You Come Out From Under The Direct Influence Of Other Poets And Have Perhaps Found A Way To Combine Those Influences So That It Appears To Be Your Own Voice. But I Think You Could Also Put It A Different Way. You, Quote, Find Your Voice, Unquote, When You Are Able To Invent This One Character Who Resembles You, Obviously, And Probably Is More Like You Than Anyone Else On Earth, But Is Not The Equivalent To You.

When You Get A Poem [in A Public Place], It Happens To You So Suddenly That You Don't Have Time To Deploy Your Anti-poetry Deflector Shields That Were Installed In High School.