But Childhood Prolonged, Cannot Remain

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

All Art, In Spite Of The Struggles Of Some Critics To Prove Otherwise, Is Based On Emotion And Projects Emotion.

But It's Silly To Suggest The Writing Of Poetry Is Something Ethereal, A Sort Of Soul-crashing, Devastating Emotional Experience That Wrings You. I Have No Fancy Ideas About Poetry. ... It Doesn't Come To You On The Wings Of A Dove. It's Something You Have To Work Hard At.

The Measured Blood Beats Out The Year's Delay.

At Midnight Tears Run Into Your Ears.