The Less I Needed, The Better I

There Are Times When Those Eyes Inside Your Brain Stare Back At You.

Magic Persists Without Us No Matter What We May Do To Try To Spoil It

The Years Have Gone By Quickly. Death Sits In The Seat Next To Me. We Make A Lovely Couple.

I Should Think That Many Of Our Poets, The Honest Ones, Will Confess To Having No Manifesto. It Is A Painful Confession But The Art Of Poetry Carries Its Own Powers Without Having To Break Them Down Into Critical Listings. I Do Not Mean That Poetry Should Be Raffish And Irresponsible Clown Tossing Off Words Into The Void. But The Very Feeling Of A Good Poem Carries Its Own Reason For Being... Art Is Its Own Excuse, And It’s Either Art Or It’s Something Else. It’s Either A Poem Or A Piece Of Cheese.

If You're Losing Your Soul And You Know It, Then You've Still Got A Soul Left To Lose.