Poetry Is A Plan For

Strange Things Blow In Through My Window On The Wings Of The Night Wind And I Don't Worry About My Destiny.

I Had Taken A Course In Ethics. I Read A Thick Textbook, Heard The Class Discussions And Came Out Of It Saying I Hadn't Learned A Thing I Didn't Know Before About Morals And What Is Right Or Wrong In Human Conduct.

Men Of Ideas Vanish When Freedom Vanishes.

Poetry Is A Kinetic Arrangement Of Static Syllables.

There Are Some People Who Can Receive A Truth By No Other Way Than To Have Their Understanding Shocked And Insulted.