But I'm Too Old To Be Written

I'm Afraid We Live At The Mercy Of A Power, Maybe A God, Without Mercy. And Yet We Find It, As I Have, From Others.

I Find You In These Tears, Few, Useless And Here At Last. Don't Come Back.

I Write What's Given Me To Write.

I Realized Poetry's The Thing That I Can Do 'cause I Can Stick At It And Work With Tremendous Intensity.

I Say, Father, The Years Have Brought Me Here, Still Your Son, They Have Brought Me To A Life I Cannot Understand.