The Gray Glaze Of The Past Attacks

Life Is Beautiful. He Who Reads That As In The Window Of Some Distant, Speeding Train Knows What He Wants, And What Will Befall.

Until, Accustomed To Disappointments, You Can Let Yourself Rule And Be Ruled By These Strings Or Emanations That Connect Everything Together, You Haven't Fully Exorcised The Demon Of Doubt That Sets You In Motion Like A Rocking Horse That Cannot Stop Rocking.

The Facts Of History Have Been Too Well Rehearsed.

I Don't Look On Poetry As Closed Works. I Feel They're Going On All The Time In My Head And I Occasionally Snip Off A Length.

Where Then Shall Hope And Fear Their Objects Find?