The Mind Enters Itself, And God The

The Indignity Of It!- With Everything Blooming Above Me, Lilies, Pale-pink Cyclamen, Roses, Whole Fields Lovely And Inviolate,- Me Down In The Fetor Of Weeds, Crawling On All Fours, Alive, In A Slippery Grave.

The Fields Stretch Out In Long Unbroken Rows. We Walk Aware Of What Is Far And Close. Here Distance Is Familiar As A Friend. The Feud We Kept With Space Comes To An End.

Pain Wanders Through My Bones Like A Lost Fire

You Must Believe A Poem Is A Holy Thing, A Good Poem, That Is.

The Poet: Would Rather Eat A Heart Than A Hambone.