There Are Interesting Forms Of Difficulty, And

All I Wanted Was To Be A Pea Of Being Inside The Green Pod Of Time.

No One Here Likes A Wet Dog.

And The Reason I Am Writing This On The Back Of A Manila Envelope Now That They Have Left The Train Together Is To Tell You That When She Turned To Lift The Large, Delicate Cello Onto The Overhead Rack, I Saw Him Looking Up At Her And What She Was Doing The Way The Eyes Of Saints Are Painted When They Are Looking Up At God When He Is Doing Something Remarkable, Something That Identifies Him As God.

Often People, When They're Confronted With A Poem, It's Like Someone Who Keep Saying 'what Is The Meaning Of This? What Is The Meaning Of This?' And That Dulls Us To The Other Pleasures Poetry Offers.

I Love To Move Like A Mouse Inside This Puzzle For The Body, Balancing The Wish To Be Lost With The Need To Be Found.