Beware The Easy Griefs /

As You Get Older, You Find That Often The Wheat, Disentangling Itself From The Chaff, Comes Out To Meet You.

At A Certain Moment In Social Proceedings, I Am On Fire To Leave: I Have A Leaving-fit.

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

Poetry Is Life Distilled.

When I Start Writing A Poem, I Don't Think About Models Or About What Anybody Else In The World Has Done.