Its Hard To Die. Harder

Words Are The Light And Sound Of Our Existence, The Heat Lightning By Which The Night Is Illuminated.

Life Is Brutal That Way ... The Loss Of Irrecoverable Moments Amid Trivia And Distraction.

A Token Of Ecological Awareness In A Society Devoted To Self Destruction And Waste But Unwilling To Acknowledge Its Indulgent Ways.

Poetry Is Only Secondarily About Words. Primarily, It Is About Truth. I Dealt With The Ding An Sich, The Substance Behind The Shadow, Weaving Powerful Concepts, Similes, And Connections The Way An Engineer Would Raise A Skyscraper With The Whiskered-alloy Skeleton Being Constructed Long Before The Glass And Plastic And Chromaluminum Appears.

Writing, Im Convinced, Should Be A Subversive Activity - Frowned On By The Authorities - And Not One Cooed Over And Praised Beyond Common Sense By Some Teacher.