In The Process Of Simplifying

This Is Not What It Is Like To Be You, I Realized As A Few Of Your Magnificent Clouds Flew Over The Rooftop. It Is Just Me Thinking About Being You. And Before I Headed Back Down The Hill, I Walked In A Circle Around Your House, Making An Invisible Line Which You Would Have To Cross Before Dark.

…balancing The Wish To Be Lost With The Need To Be Found.

I Sit In The Dark And Wait For A Little Flame To Appear At The End Of My Pencil.

I Was A Pretty Happy Kid, I Had To Fake It. I Had To Get Into This Miserable Character Before I Wrote Poems.

One Of The Ridiculous Aspects Of Being A Poet Is The Huge Gulf Between How Seriously We Take Ourselves And How Generally We Are Ignored By Everybody Else.