... All Good Things Beyond Sleep Come

Any Allegiance To A Deity Or Concept Or Universal Principal Which Put Obedience Above Decent Behavior Toward An Innocent Human Being Evil.

The Never-ending Competition Between Writers Hasn't Changed Between 1868 And 2000. I Used To Belong To Writers' Workshops With Other Professionals, But That Becomes Impossible After A While. Everyone's On A Different Step Of The Career Ladder. Jealousy Doesn't Have To Erupt Into Murder And Burying Someone In Wells Cathedral, But It Is Always There.

Words Are The Only Bullets In Truth's Bandolier. And Poets Are The Snipers.

It Is A Mystery, And To Tell The Truth, I Am Intrigued By Mysteries Even If This Is To Be My Last Week Of Enjoying Them. I Would Welcome Some Glimmer Of Understanding But, Failing That, Working On The Puzzle Will Suffice.

Poetry Is Only Secondarily About Words. Primarily, It Is About Truth. I Dealt With The Ding An Sich, The Substance Behind The Shadow, Weaving Powerful Concepts, Similes, And Connections The Way An Engineer Would Raise A Skyscraper With The Whiskered-alloy Skeleton Being Constructed Long Before The Glass And Plastic And Chromaluminum Appears.