Once Every Five Hundred Years Or So,

Anything Looked At Closely Becomes Wonderful.

Is It Not Careless To Become Too Local When There Are Four Hundred Billion Stars In Our Galaxy Alone.

To Be Saved Is Here, Local And Mortal

Poetry Leads Us To The Unstructured Sources Of Our Beings, To The Unknown, And Returns Us To Our Rational, Structured Selves Refreshed. Having Once Experienced The Mystery, Plenitude, Contradiction, And Composure Of A Work Of Art, We Afterward Have A Built-in Resistance To The Slogans And Propaganda Of Oversimplification That Have Often Contributed To The Destruction Of Human Life. Poetry Is A Verbal Means To A Nonverbal Source. It Is A Motion To No-motion, To The Still Point Of Contemplation And Deep Realization.

Everything Is Discursive Opinion Instead Of Direct Experience.