The Hurt Is Not Enough: I Long

Let Me Be The One To Do What Is Done.

A Bird Half Wakened In The Lunar Noon Sang Halfway Through Its Little Inborn Tune.

Space Ails Us Moderns: We Are Sick With Space.

The Figure A Poem Makes. It Begins In Delight And Ends In Wisdom.

You're Always Believing Ahead Of Your Evidence. What Was The Evidence I Could Write A Poem? I Just Believed It. The Most Creative Thing In Us Is To Believe In A Thing.