I Woke To The Sound

Over Coffee And Orange Juice The Embryonic Suicide Brightens Visibly.

I Feel Terribly Vulnerable And 'not-myself' When I'm Not Writing.

The Blood Jet Is Poetry And There Is No Stopping It.

There Ought, I Thought, To Be A Ritual For Being Born Twice - Patched, Retreaded And Approved For The Road.

Do We Always Grind Through The Present, Doomed To Throw A Gold Haze Of Fond Retrospect Over The Past?