The Poem Is Sad Because It Wants

Most Reckless Things Are Beautiful In Some Way, And Recklessness Is What Makes Experimental Art Beautiful, Just As Religions Are Beautiful Because Of The Strong Possibilities That They Are Founded On Nothing.

And So We Turn The Page Over. To Think Of Starting. This Is All There Is.

It Is Because Everything Is Relative That We Shall Never See In That Sphere Of Pure Wisdom And Entertainment Much More Than Groping Shadows Of An Incomplete Former Existence So Close It Burns Like The Mouth That Closes Down Over All Your Effort Like The Moment Of Death

I Think That In The Process Of Writing, All Kinds Of Unexpected Things Happen That Shift The Poet Away From His Plan And That These Accidents Are Really What We Mean When We Talk About Poetry.

Will Occur As Time Grows More Open About It.