The Poet: Would Rather Eat A Heart

I Am Overwhelmed By The Beautiful Disorder Of Poetry, The Eternal Virginity Of Words.

Who Rise From Flesh To Spirit Know The Fall: The Word Outleaps The World, And Light Is All.

I Can Hear, Underground, That Sucking And Sobbing, In My Veins, In My Bones I Feel It,- The Small Water Seeping Upward, The Tight Grains Parting At Last. When Sprouts Break Out, Slippery As Fish, I Quail, Lean To Beginnings, Sheath-wet.

Pain Wanders Through My Bones Like A Lost Fire

Art Is Our Defense Against Hysteria And Death.