Wallowing In This Bloody Sty, I Cast

I Want To Apologize For Plaguing You With So Many Telephone Calls Last November And December. When The 'enthusiasm' Is Coming On Me It Is Accompanied By A Feverish Reaching Out To My Friends. After Its Over I Wince And Wither.

Poetry Is Not The Record Of An Event: It Is An Event.

In The End, There Is No End.

We Feel The Machine Slipping From Our Hands As If Someone Else Were Steering; If We See Light At The End Of The Tunnel, It's The Light Of The Oncoming Train.

The Scythers, Time And Death, Helmed Locusts, Move Upon The Tree Of Breath