I Can Hardly Wait For

I Like An Ending That's Both A Door And A Window.

What Makes The Engine Go? Desire, Desire, Desire.

The Unconscious Creates, The Ego Edits.

Some Poems Present Themselves As Cliffs That Need To Be Climbed. Others Are So Defensive That When You Approach Their Enclosure You Half Expect To Be Met By A Snarling Dog At The Gate. Still Others Want To Smother You With Their Sticky Charms.

The Universe Is A Continuous Web. Touch It At Any Point And The Whole Web Quivers.