Show Him Every Dawn & Read To

Applause Is The Beginning Of Abuse

This House Has Been Far Out At Sea All Night, The Woods Crashing Through Darkness, The Booming Hills, Winds Stampeding The Fields Under The Window Floundering Black Astride And Blinding Wet Till Day Rose; Then Under An Orange Sky The Hills Had New Places, And Wind Wielded Blade-light, Luminous Black And Emerald, Flexing Like The Lens Of A Mad Eye.

The Real Mystery Is This Strange Need. Why Can't We Just Hide It And Shut Up? Why Do We Have To Blab? Why Do Human Beings Need To Confess?

The Bush Administration Doesn't Particularly Like Public Participation. It Makes Them Look Bad.

Prose, Narratives, Etcetera, Can Carry Healing. Poetry Does It More Intensely.