Poetry Is An Echo, Asking A Shadow

I Wrote Poems In My Corner Of The Brooks Street Station. I Sent Them To Two Editors Who Rejected Them Right Off. I Read Those Letters Of Rejection Years Later And I Agreed With Those Editors.

A Tough Will Counts. So Does Desire.so Does A Rich Soft Wanting.without Rich Wanting Nothing Arrives.

There Will Be A Rusty Gun On The Wall, Sweetheart, The Rifle Grooves Curling With Flakes Of Rust. A Spider Will Make A Silver String Nest In The Darkest, Warmest Corner Of It.

My Name Is Truth And I Am The Most Elusive Captive In The Universe.

All My Life I Have Been Trying To Learn To Read, To See And Hear, And To Write.