I Left Parts Of Myself

Inside My Empty Bottle I Was Constructing A Lighthouse While All Others Were Making Ships.

In Their Effort To Divorce Language And Experience, Deconstructionist Critics Remind Me Of Middle-class Parents Who Do Not Allow Their Children To Play In The Street.

There Are Knives That Glitter Like Altars In A Dark Church Where They Bring The Cripple And The Imbecile To Be Healed. There's A Woden Block Where Bones Are Broken, Scraped Clean--a River Dried To Its Bed

The Ambition Of Much Of Today's Literary Theory Seems To Be To Find Ways To Read Literature Without Imagination.

Poetry: Three Mismatched Shoes At The Entrance Of A Dark Alley.