Poetry Has Never Been A Favorite American

Our Bodies Are Garbage Heaps: We Collect Experience, And From The Decomposition Of The Thrown-out Eggshells, Spinach Leaves, Coffee Grinds, And Old Steak Bones Out Of Our Minds Come Nitrogen, Heat, And Very Fertile Soil. Out Of This Fertile Soil Bloom Our Poems And Stories. But This Does Not Come All At Once. It Takes Time. Continue To Turn Over And Over The Organic Details Of Your Life Until Some Of Them Fall Through The Garbage Of Discursive Thoughts To The Solid Ground Of Black Soil.

That's Very Nice If They Want To Publish You, But Don't Pay Too Much Attention To It. It Will Toss You Away. Just Continue To Write.

It's Okay To Embark On Writing Because You Think It Will Get You Love. At Least It Gets You Going, But It Doesn't Last. After A While You Realize That No One Cares That Much. Then You Find Another Reason: Money. You Can Dream On That One While The Bills Pile Up. Then You Think: "well, I'm The Sensitive Type. I Have To Express Myself." Do Me A Favor. Don't Be So Sensitive. Be Tough. It Will Get You Further Along When You Get Rejected. Finally, You Just Do It Because You Happen To Like It.

We Never Graduate From First Grade. Over And Over, We Have To Go Back To The Beginning.

We Shouldn't Forget That The Universe Moves With Us, Is At Our Back With Everything We Do.