Poetry Is A Search For

Poetry Is A Plan For A Slit In The Face Of A Bronze Fountain Goat And The Path Of Fresh Drinking Water.

Slang Is A Language That Rolls Up Its Sleeves, Spits On Its Hands And Goes To Work.

There Is A Music For Lonely Hearts Nearly Always. If The Music Dies Down There Is A Silence. Almost The Same As The Movement Of Music. To Know Silence Perfectly Is To Know Music.

Lay Me On An Anvil, O God. Beat Me And Hammer Me Into A Steel Spike.

Poetry Is A Search For Syllables To Shoot At The Barriers Of The Unknown And The Unknowable.