The Canadian Voice Is Still Too Rustic.

The Body Whips The Soul. In Its Great Desire It Demands The Elixir In The Roar Of Spring, Transmutations.

Were All Moving, Moving, Moving. Isnt It Nice?

A Poem Is Energy Transferred From Where The Poet Got It (he Will Have Some Several Causations), By Way Of The Poem Itself To, All The Way Over To, The Reader.

I Don't Live For Poetry. I Live Far More Than Anybody Else Does.

One Perception Must Immediately And Directly Lead To A Further Perception