Tonight I Feel The Stars Are Out

Blue Is The Insides Of Something Mysterious And Lonely. I'd Look At Fish And Birds, Thinking The Sky And Water Colored Them. The First Abyss Is Blue. An Artist Must Go Beyond The Mercy Of Satin Or Water-from A Gutty Hue To That Which Is Close To Royal Purple. All Seasons And Blossoms Inbetween. Lavender. Theatrical And Outrageous Electric. Almost Gray. True And False Blue. Water And Oil. The Gas Jet Breathing In Oblivion. The Unstruck Match. The Blue Of Absence. The Blue Of Deep Presence. The Insides Of Something Perfect.

There's A Sameness About American Poetry That I Don't Think Represents The Whole People. It Represents A Poetry Of The Moment, A Poetry Of Evasion, And I Have Problems With This. I Believe Poetry Has Always Been Political, Long Before Poets Had To Deal With The Page And White Space . . . It's Natural.

Poetry Is A Process Of Getting Back To The Unconscious. Hence, I Am Always Writing-even When I'm Not Facing The White Space. I Feel Writers Are Like Reservoirs Of Images. We Take In What Is Around Us.

I Like What Oliver Lakes Does On The Saxophone. The Saxophone Comes Pretty Close To The Sound Of The Human Voice And When Oliver Plays With Other Sax Players, It's Like A Dialogue.

I See Many Black Males Grasping For Some Thread Of Hope. There Are So Many Destructive Practices, Glimpses Into A Psychic Abyss. That Must Be Very Frightening.