Writing Is A Delicious Agony.

Beware The Easy Griefs / That Fool And Fuel Nothing.

There Are No Magics Or Elves / Or Timely Godmothers To Guide Us. We Are Lost, Must / Wizard A Track Through Our Own Screaming Weed.

Books Are Meat And Medicine And Flame And Flight And Flower Steel, Stitch, Cloud And Clout, And Drumbeats On The Air.

Exhaust The Little Moment / Soon It Dies.

There Can Be No Whiter Whiteness Than This One: An Insurance Man's Shirt On Its Morning Run.