Glory, As Anyone Knows, Is

The Past Does Not Only Draw Us Back To The Past. There Are Certain Memories Of The Past That Have Strong Steel Springs And, When We Who Live In The Present Touch Them, They Are Suddenly Stretched Taut And Then They Propel Us Into The Future.

I Am One Who Has Always Been Interested Only In The Edges Of The Body And The Spirit, The Outlying Regions Of The Body And The Outlying Regions Of The Spirit. The Depths Hold No Interest For Me; I Leave Them To Others, For They Are Shallow, Commonplace. What Is There, Then, At The Outer Most Edge? Nothing, Perhaps, Save A Few Ribbons, Dangling Down Into The Void.

I Still Have No Way To Survive But To Keep Writing One Line, One More Line, One More Line.

I Want To Make A Poem Of My Life.

True Beauty Is Something That Attacks, Overpowers, Robs, And Finally Destroys.