The Music Is In Minors.

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

With Melted Opals For My Milk, Pearl-leaf For My Cracker.

Art Is A Refining And Evocative Translation Of The Materials Of The World.

I Am An Ordinary Human Being Who Is Impelled To Write Poetry. ... I Still Do Feel That A Poet Has A Duty To Words, And That Words Can Do Wonderful Things, And It's Too Bad To Just Let Them Lie There Without Doing Anything With And For Them.

Do Not Desire To Fit In. Desire To Oblige Yourselves To Lead.