With Me, My Main Vision For Life

Our Disappointment Sits Between Us.

I Should Think That Many Of Our Poets, The Honest Ones, Will Confess To Having No Manifesto. It Is A Painful Confession But The Art Of Poetry Carries Its Own Powers Without Having To Break Them Down Into Critical Listings. I Do Not Mean That Poetry Should Be Raffish And Irresponsible Clown Tossing Off Words Into The Void. But The Very Feeling Of A Good Poem Carries Its Own Reason For Being... Art Is Its Own Excuse, And It’s Either Art Or It’s Something Else. It’s Either A Poem Or A Piece Of Cheese.

Never Envy A Man His Lady. Behind It All Lays A Living Hell.

Love Iz A Big Fat Turkey And Every Day Iz Thanksgiving

If You Let Them Kill You, They Will