Deftly They Opened The Brain Of A

What Makes The Engine Go? Desire, Desire, Desire.

I Dance/for The Joy Of Surviving, At The Edge Of The Road.

When You Look Back On A Lifetime And Think Of What Has Been Given To The World By Your Presence, Your Fugitive Presence, Inevitably You Think Of Your Art, Whatever It May Be, As The Gift You Have Made To The World In Acknowledgment Of The Gift You Have Been Given, Which Is The Life Itself... That Work Is Not An Expression Of The Desire For Praise Or Recognition, Or Prizes, But The Deepest Manifestation Of Your Gratitiude For The Gift Of Life.

The Poem Comes In The Form Of A Blessing, Like Rapture Breaking On The Mind.

In A Murderous Time/the Heart Breaks And Breaks/and Lives By Breaking.