Poets Are Damned... But See With The

When You Notice Something Clearly And See It Vividly, It Then Becomes Sacred.

Poets Are Damned... But See With The Eyes Of Angels.

I Saw You, Walt Whitman, Childless, Lonely Old Grubber,poking Among The Meats In The Refrigerator And Eyeing The Grocery Boys. I Heard You Asking Questions Of Each: Who Killed The Pork Chops? What Price Bananas? Are You My Angel?

Things Are Symbols Of Themselves.

What If Someone Gave A War And Nobody Came?