I Wonder If The Artist Ever Lives

There Is Joy In All: In The Hair I Brush Each Morning, In The Cannon Towel, Newly Washed, That I Rub My Body With Each Morning.

Images Are The Heart Of Poetry ... You're Not A Poet Without Imagery.

The Man Inside Of Woman Ties A Knot So That They Will Never Again Be Separate.

I Said, The Poets Are There I Hear Them Singing And Lying Around Their Round Table And Around Me Still.

Here In The Hospital, I Say,that Is Not My Body, Not My Body.i Am Not Here For The Doctorsto Read Like A Recipe.