Still Falls The Rain - Dark As

I May Say That I Think Greed About Poetry Is The Only Permissible Greed - It Is, Indeed, Unavoidable.

Tall Windows Show Infinity; And, Hard Reality, The Candles Weep And Pry And Dance Like Lives Mocked At By Chance. The Rooms Are Vast As Sleep Within; When Once I Ventured In, Chill Silence, Like A Surging Sea, Slowly Enveloped Me.

All Great Art Contains An Element Of The Irrational.

The Poet Is The Complete Lover Of Mankind.

I Wish The Government Would Put A Tax On Pianos For The Incompetent.