The Journey Back Is Always Longer Than

Poetry Is Fact Given Over To Imagery.

Unless You Call Attention To Your Presence Who Will Know You're There? Even A Country Has To Weave And Wave A Flag As Proof Of Its Existence.

I Cannot Speculate On What Our Cluttered Mind Will Save- Sleepy Sundays, Or A Nosebleed After Love. I Know Only The Dying Heart Needs The Nourishment Of Memory To Live Beyond Too Many Winters.

Never Fear Being Alone, Because You Never Are.

A Poet Can't Afford To Be Aloof. The Tools Of His Trade Are The People He Bumps Up Against.