Reread, Rewrite, Reread, Rewrite. If It Still

If The Garden Of Eden Really Exists It Does So Moment By Moment, Fragmented And Tough, Cropping Up Like A Fan Of Buddleia High Up In The Gutter Of A Deserted Warehouse, Or In A Heap Of Frozen Cabbages Becoming Luminous In The Reflected Light Of Roadside Snow.

Once One Habit Peels Away The Others Follow It. You Have To Hold On, Or The Next Thing You'll Find Yourself Parading Down The Street In Your Nightdress. Habit Is Everything.

We Are Creatures Of Story.

Count Dracula Had Directed Me To Go To The Golden Krone Hotel, Which I Found, To My Great Delight, To Be Thoroughly Old-fashioned, For Of Course I Wanted To See All I Could Of The Ways Of The Country.

However, I Began To Submit Poems To British Magazines, And Some Were Accepted. It Was A Great Moment To See My First Poems Published. It Felt Like Entering A Tradition.