The Breath That Sharpens Life

I Am Awakened Each Dawn Increasingly To Fear.

Everyone Should Be Forcibly Transplanted To Another Continent From Their Family At The Age Of Three.

But, O, Photography! As No Art Is,faithful And Disappointing! That Recordsdull Days As Dull, And Hold-it Smiles As Frauds,and Will Not Censor Blemishes,like Washing-lines, And Hall's-distemper Boards

I Never Think Of Poetry Or The Poetry Scene, Only Separate Poems Written By Individuals.

I Am Beginning To Think Of The Human Imagination As A Fruit Machine On Which Victories Are Rare And Separated By Much Vain Expense, And Represent A Rare Alignment Of Mental And Spiritual Qualities That Normally Are Quite At Odds.