When Midlist Writers Are Treated Like Dirt,

Every Poet Has A Certain Amount Of "stuff." That's What You Draw From For Imagery. The More Stuff You Know Well, Not Simply Intellectually But Sensually, Emotionally, Intimately, The Wider The Pool From Which You Draw.

The Ruling Class Isn't Dissatisfied: They Are Healthy, Well-fed, Live In Beauty, Enjoy Their Own Importance: Fun-loving Cannibals.

What A Richly Colored Strong Warm Coat Is Woven When Love Is The Warp And Work Is The Woof.

I Have No Connections Here; Only Gusty Collisions, Rootless Seedlings Forced Into Bloom, That Collapse. ... I Am The Visiting Poet: A Real Unicorn, A Wind-up Plush Dodo, A Wax Museum Of The Movement. People Want To Push The Buttons And See Me Glow.

Any Life Is Lived In A Particular Time And Place. Every Life Is Impacted By The Family's Socio-economic Circumstances, And, In Later Life, By The Person's.