And So We Turn The

I Like Poems You Can Tack All Over With A Hammer And There Are No Hollow Places.

You Stupefied Me. We Waxed, Carnivores, Late And Alight In The Beaded Winter. All Was Ominous, Luminous.

Not Until It Starts To Stink Does The Inevitable Happen.

Much That Is Beautiful Must Be Discarded So That We May Resemble A Taller Impression Of Ourselves.

Once You've Lived In France, You Don't Want To Live Anywhere Else, Including France.