Whatever Can Happen To Anyone Can Happen

Slowly I Would Get To Pen And Paper, Make My Poems For Others Unseen And Unborn. In The Day I Would Be Reminded Of Those Men And Women, Brave, Setting Up Signals Across Vast Distances, Considering A Nameless Way Of Living, Of Almost Unimagined Values.

Women In Drudgery Knew They Must Be One Of Four: Whores, Artists, Saints, And Wives. There Are Composite Lives That Women Always Live

Dogma And Shrinking From The External World Are At One Limit Of The Range Of Belief. At The Other Are Science And Poetry And, Indeed, Reality.

I Speak To You. You Speak To Me. Is That Fragile?

I Think There Is A Choice Possible To Us At Any Moment, As Long As We Live. But There Is No Sacrifice. There Is A Choice, And The Rest Falls Away. Second Choice Does Not Exist. Beware Of Those Who Talk About Sacrifice.