What Happens In The Heart Simply Happens.

Nothing Has Changed Since I Began. My Eye Has Permitted No Change. I Am Going To Keep Things Like This.

I Think It Was Milosz, The Polish Poet, Who When He Lay In A Doorway And Watched The Bullets Lifting The Cobbles Out Of The Street Beside Him Realised That Most Poetry Is Not Equipped For Life In A World Where People Actually Die. But Some Is.

The World Rolls Under The Long Thrust Of His Heel. Over The Cage Floor The Horizons Come.

The Deeps Are Cold: In That Darkness Camaraderie Does Not Hold: Nothing Touches But, Clutching, Devours.

Applause Is The Beginning Of Abuse