Oh Well, I Will Say

No Matter How Wild Reality Was Obviously Often Being, It Was An Absolutely Secure Place, As A Tone And Intelligence, And A Thing Happening.

Still, No One Finally Knows What A Poet Is Supposed Either To Be Or To Do. Especially In This Country, One Takes On The Job—because All That One Does In America Is Considered A "job"—with No Clear Sense As To What Is Required Or Where One Will Ultimately Be Led. In That Respect, It Is As Particular An Instance Of A "calling" As One Might Point To. For Years I've Kept In Mind, "many Are Called But Few Are Chosen." Even So "called," There Were No Assurances That One Would Be Answered.

For Love - I Would Split Open Your Head And Put A Candle In Behind The Eyes.

I Don’t Think Any Man Writing Can Worry About What The Act Of Writing Costs Him, Even Though At Times He Is Very Aware Of It.

Communication Is Mutual Feeling With Someone, Not A Didactic Process Of Information.