Death, Vicious Death, Leave A Green Branch

My Poetry Is A Game. My Life Is A Game. But I Am Not A Game.

The Day That Hunger Is Eradicated From The Earth There Will Be The Greatest Spiritual Explosion The World Has Ever Known. Humanity Cannot Imagine The Joy That Will Burst Into The World.

Seville Is A Tower Full Of Fine Archers.... Under The Arch Of The Sky, Across The Clear Plain, She Shoots The Constant Arrow Of Her River.

Not For A Moment, Beautiful Aged Walt Whitman, Have I Failed To See Your Beard Full Of Butterflies.

Relish The Fresh Landscape Of My Wound, Break Rushes And Delicate Rivulets, Drink Blood Poured On Honeyed Thigh.