As I've Explained To My

Did You Know That There Is No Exact Rhyme In The Russian Language For The Word 'pravda'? Ponder And Weigh This Insufficiency In Your Mind. Doesn't That Just Echo Down The Canyons Of Your Soul?

We Live, We Die, We Are Remembered, We Are Forgotten.

Grief Reconfigures Time, Its Length, Its Texture, Its Function: One Day Means No More Than The Next, So Why Have They Been Picked Out And Given Separate Names?

Do Not Imagine That Art Is Something Which Is Designed To Give Gentle Uplift And Self-confidence . Art Is Not A Brassiere. At Least, Not In The English Sense. But Do Not Forget That Brassiere Is The French Word For Life-jacket.

Poets Seem To Write More Easily About Love Than Prose Writers. For A Start, They Own That Flexible ‘i’…. Then Again, Poets Seem Able To Turn Bad Love – Selfish, Shitty Love – Into Good Love Poetry. Prose Writers Lack This Power Of Admirable, Dishonest Transformation. We Can Only Turn Bad Love Into Prose About Bad Love. So We Are Envious (and Slightly Distrustful) When Poets Talk To Us Of Love.