A Thousand Kindnesses Do Not

Song, Like A Wing, Tears Through My Breast, My Side, And Madness Chooses Out My Voice Again, Again.

Your Work Is Carved Out Of Agony As A Statue Is Carved Out Of Marble.

What We Suffer, What We Endure, What We Muff, What We Kill, What We Miss, What We Are Guilty Of, Is Done By Us, As Individuals, In Private.

No More Pronouncements On Lousy Verse. No More Hidden Competition. No More Struggling Not To Be A Square.

I Hope That One Or Two Immortal Lyrics Will Come Out Of All This Tumbling Around.