Breathe-in Experience, Breathe-out Poetry.

How Can I Look Back And Not Speak Of The Stupid Learning About Birth? Of The Stupid Learning That People Make Love, And How It Seemed The Reason For All Things, The Intimacy Of My Wondering, The Illumination That To An Adolescent Was The Cause For Life Around Me, The Reason Why The Unhappy People I Knew Did Not Kill Themselves?

There Is Also, In Any History, The Buried, The Wasted, And The Lost.

The Truth Of A Poem Is Its Form And Its Content, Its Music And Its Meaning Are The Same.

My Lifetime Listens To Yours.

A Work Of Art Is One Through Which The Consciousness Of The Artist Is Able To Give Its Emotions To Anyone Who Is Prepared To Receive Them.