You Run Risks. That's The

Poetry And Prison Have Always Been Neighbors.

Jesus Is The Masterpiece. The Thieves Are Minor Works. Why Are They There? Not To Frame The Crucifixion, As Some Innocent Souls Believe, But To Hide It.

Poetry Is The One Thing That Isn't Contaminated, The One Thing That Isn't Part Of The Game.

Of What Is Lost, Irretrievably Lost, All I Wish To Recover Is The Daily Availability Of My Writing, Lines Capable Of Grasping Me By The Hair And Lifting Me Up When I'm At The End Of My Strength. (significant, Said The Foreigner.) Odes To The Human And The Divine. Let My Writing Be Like The Verses Of By Leopardi That Daniel Biga Recited On A Nordic Bridge To Gird Himself With Courage.

Dreams Fade With Morning Light, Never A Morn For Thee, Dreamer Of Dreams, Goodnight.