May My Silences Become More Accurate.

I Wake To Sleep, And Take My Waking Slow. I Feel My Fate In What I Cannot Fear. I Learn By Going Where I Have To Go.

I Always Felt Mean, Jogging Back Over The Logging Road,as If I Had Broken The Natural Order Of Things In That Swampland;disturbed Some Rhythm, Old And Of Vast Importance,by Pulling Off Flesh From The Living Planet;as If I Had Committed, Against The Whole Scheme Of Life, A Desecration.

What We Need Is More People Who Specialize In The Impossible.

You Must Believe A Poem Is A Holy Thing, A Good Poem, That Is.

Those Who Are Willing To Be Vulnerable Move Among Mysteries.