The World Needs Writers. We

We Come Into The World Alone. We Go Away The Same. We're Meant To Spend The Interlude Between In Closeness Or So We Tell Ourselves. But It's A Long Way From The Morning To The Evening.

I Chose The Shadows; They Did Not Choose Me. I Stay Here Securely Not Just Because I Feel Plain, But Because Disappearance Is By Now The Easy Way. The Habit. The Worn Path That I Can Trod Knowingly And Be Assured Safe Passage Home.

People Are Not Born Bastards. They Have To Work At It.

Love Is A Sweet Thing Caught A Momentand Held In A Golden Eye.

A Poet Can't Afford To Be Aloof. The Tools Of His Trade Are The People He Bumps Up Against.