We Have Reason To Be

Ever To Confess You're Bored Means You Have No Inner Resources.

I Cry. Evil Dissolves, & Love, Like Foam; That Love. Prattle Of Children Powers Me Home, My Heart Claps Like The Swan's Under A Frenzy Of Who Love Me & Who Shine.

Praise Will Lead You To Vanity, And Blame Will Lead You To Self-pity, And Both Are Bad For Writers.

I Am So Wise I Had My Mouth Sewn Shut.

You Should Always Be Trying To Write A Poem You Are Unable To Write, A Poem You Lack The Technique, The Language, The Courage To Achieve. Otherwise You're Merely Imitating Yourself, Going Nowhere, Because That's Always Easiest.