I Am Often Asked Why

Extreme Patience And Persistence Are Required, Yet Everybody Succeeds At This Before Being Handed The Surprise Box Lunch Of The Rest Of His Life.

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

I Think That In The Process Of Writing, All Kinds Of Unexpected Things Happen That Shift The Poet Away From His Plan And That These Accidents Are Really What We Mean When We Talk About Poetry.

Reading Is A Pleasure, But To Finish Reading, To Come To The Blank Space At The End, Is Also A Pleasure.

Where Then Shall Hope And Fear Their Objects Find?