You Are Bound, My Hunch Is, To

There Ain't Nothin' To Dyin', Really. You Just Get Tired. You Kind Of Drift Away.

Find Out What You Do Best, And Then Don't Do It.

Poetry Makes Possible The Deepest Kind Of Personal Possession Of The World.

I Want You To Hear A New Version Of Dueling Banjos. Anyone Else Is Welcome.

What A View, I Said Again. The River Was Blank And Mindless With Beauty. It Was The Most Glorious Thing I Have Ever Seen. But It Was Not Seeing, Really. For Once It Was Not Just Seeing. It Was Beholding. I Beheld The River In Its Icy Pit Of Brightness, In Its Far-below Sound And Indifference, In Its Large Coil And Tiny Points And Flashes Of The Moon, In Its Long Sinuous Form, In Its Uncomprehending Consequence.