Poetry Is A Dividend From What You

There Was A Time When Only Wise Books Were Read Helping Us To Bear Our Pain And Misery. This, After All, Is Not Quite The Same As Leafing Through A Thousand Works Fresh From Psychiatric Clinics. And Yet The World Is Different From What It Seems To Be And We Are Other Than How We See Ourselves In Our Ravings.

The Revolt Against One's Environment Is Usually 'shame' Of One's Environment.

The Vineyard Country, Russet, Reddish, Carmine-brown In This Season. A Blue Outline Of Hills Above A Fertile Valley. It's Warm As Long As The Sun Does Not Set, In The Shade Cold Returns. A Strong Sauna And Then Swimming In A Pool Surrounded By Trees. Dark Redwoods, Transparent Pale-leved Birches. In Their Delicate Network, A Sliver Of The Moon. I Describe This For I Have Learned To Doubt Philosophy And The Visible World Is All That Remains.

When I Curse Fate, It's Not Me, But The Earth In Me.

Forget The Suffering You Caused Others. Forget The Suffering Others Caused You. The Waters Run And Run, Springs Sparkle And Are Done, You Walk The Earth You Are Forgetting.