Summoning Artists To Participate In The August

When I Was Young My Teachers Were The Old. I Gave Up Fire For Form Till I Was Cold.

I'd Like To Get Away From Earth Awhile And Then Come Back To It And Begin Over. May No Fate Wilfully Misunderstand Me And Half Grant What I Wish And Snatch Me Away Not To Return. Earth's The Right Place For Love: I Don't Know Where It's Likely To Go Better.

You're Searching... For Things That Don't Exist; I Mean Beginnings. Ends And Beginnings - There Are No Such Things. There Are Only Middles.

I Could Define Poetry This Way: It Is That Which Is Lost Out Of Both Prose And Verse In Translation.

I'm Not Confused. I'm Just Well Mixed.