Death Is What Makes Life

Robert Frost Really Started This Whole Thing Rolling. He Was, I Believe, The First Poet Who Started Going To Colleges. Before That, Poets Didn't Give Public Readings Very Often, Certainly Not - There Was No Circuit Of Schools.

I Write With A Uni-ball Onyx Micropoint On Nine-by-seven Bound Notebooks Made By A Canadian Company Called Blueline. After I Do A Few Drafts, I Type Up The Poem On A Macintosh G3 And Then Send It Out The Door.

It's Time To Float On The Waters Of The Night. Time To Wrap My Arms Around This Book And Press It To My Chest, Life Preserver In A Seat Of Unremarkable Men And Women Anonymous Faces On The Street, A Hundred Thousand Unalphabitized Things A Million Forgotten Hours.

I Could Feel The Day Offering Itself To Me, And I Wanted Nothing More Than To Be In The Moment-but Which Moment? Not That One, Or That One, Or That One.

By Clarity I Don't Mean That We're Always In Kind Of A Simple Area Where Everything Is Clear And Comforting And Understood. Clarity Is Certainly A Way Toward Disorientation Because If You Don't Start Out - If The Reader Isn't Grounded, If The Reader Is Disoriented In The Beginning Of The Poem, Then The Reader Can't Be Led Astray Or Disoriented Later.