I Learn By Going Where I Have

But When I Breath With The Birds, The Spirit Of Wrath Becomes The Spirit Of Blessings, And The Dead Begin From Their Dark To Sing In My Sleep.

Live In A Perpetual Great Astonishment.

You Must Believe A Poem Is A Holy Thing, A Good Poem, That Is.

I Have Gone Into The Waste Lonely Places

Those Who Are Willing To Be Vulnerable Move Among Mysteries.