I Came To Explore The Wreck.

Poetry Is The Liquid Voice That Can Wear Through Stone.

It's Exhilarating To Be Alive In A Time Of Awakening Consciousness; It Can Also Be Confusing, Disorienting, And Painful.

It Is The Thirtieth Of May, The Thirtieth Of November, A Beginning Or An End, We Are Moving Into The Solstice And There Is So Much Here I Still Do Not Understand.

Our Personalities Seem Dangerously To Blur And Overlap With Our Mother's; And, In A Desperate Attempt To Know Where Mother Ends And Daughter Begins, We Perform Radical Surgery.

I Guess What Concerns Me Always Is The Need For A Field, A Rich Compost, For Any Art To Flourish. But However Isolate Or Unheard You May Feel, If You Have The Need To Write Poetry, Are Compelled To Write It, You Go On, Whether There Is Resonance Or Not.