Poetry Is A Dividend From What You

It's True That What Is Morbid Is Highly Valued Today, And So You May Think That I Am Only Joking Or That I've Devised Just One More Means Of Praising Art With The Help Of Irony.

There Was A Time When Only Wise Books Were Read Helping Us To Bear Our Pain And Misery. This, After All, Is Not Quite The Same As Leafing Through A Thousand Works Fresh From Psychiatric Clinics. And Yet The World Is Different From What It Seems To Be And We Are Other Than How We See Ourselves In Our Ravings.

Grow Your Tree Of Falsehood From A Small Grain Of Truth.

I Imagine The Earth When I Am No More: Women's Dresses, Dewy Lilacs, A Song In The Valley. Yet The Books Will Be There On The Shelves, Well Born, Derived From People, But Also From Radiance, Heights.

On The Day The World Ends A Bee Circles A Clover, A Fisherman Mends A Glimmering Net.