The Painter Saw What Was, An Alternate

We Tend To Put Poems Into Factions. And It Restricts Our Reading.

I Don't Know How To Sit Outside Myself And Test Against A Hypothetical Self Who Stayed Home.

I Haven't Written Anything In Four Years. I'm Sort Of Dried Up.

The Painter Saw What Was, An Alternate Candor And Secrecy Inside The Skin.

It Was Difficult Being A Teacher And Out Of The Closet In The '50s. By The Time I Retired, The English Department Was Proud Of Having A Gay Poet Of A Certain Minor Fame. It Was A Very Satisfactory Change!