My Poems Are Hymns Of

Said The Sun To The Moon-'when You Are But A Lonely White Crone, And I, A Dead King In My Golden Armour Somewhere In A Dark Wood, Remember Only This Of Our Hopeless Love That Never Till Time Is Done Will The Fire Of The Heart And The Fire Of The Mind Be One

I Am Not Eccentric. It's Just That I Am More Alive Than Most People. I Am An Unpopular Electric Eel Set In A Pond Of Goldfish.

When We Think Of Cruelty, We Must Try To Remember The Stupidity, The Envy, The Frustration From Which It Has Arisen.

All Great Poetry Is Dipped In The Dyes Of The Heart.

If One Is A Greyhound, Why Try To Look Like A Pekingese?