We Have No Choice But To Be

A Poem Should Be Palpable And Mute As A Globed Fruit.

If The Art Of Poetry Is?the Art Of Making Sense Of The Chaos Of Human Experience, It's Not A Bad Thing To See A Lot Of Chaos.

That Peculiar Disease Of Intellectuals, That Infatuation With Ideas At The Expense Of Experience, That Compels Experience To Conform To Bookish Expectations.

See The World As It Truly Is, Small And Blue, Beautiful In That Eternal Silence Where It Floats.

The American Journey Has Not Ended. America Is Always Still To Build ... West Is A Country In The Mind, And So Eternal.