This Morning Of The Small

O.k. I'm Running Out Of Appetite. Let This Swirl- A Bit Like Crab Nebula- Do For Now.

A Poem Is Energy Transferred From Where The Poet Got It (he Will Have Some Several Causations), By Way Of The Poem Itself To, All The Way Over To, The Reader.

What Pudor Pejorocracy Affronts How Awe, Night-rest And Neighborhood Can Rot What Breeds Where Dirtiness Is Law What Crawls Below

An American Is A Complex Of Occasions, Themselves A Geometry Of Spatial Nature.

I Was Playing Catch With The European Audience.