You Can Get All A's And Still

For The World Is Broken, Sundered, Busted Down The Middle, Self Ripped From Self And Man Pasted Back Together As Mythical Monster, Half Angel, Half Beast, But No Man...some Day A Man Will Walk Into My Office As A Ghost Or Beast Or Ghost-beast And Walk Out As A Man, Which Is To Say Sovereign Wanderer, Lordly Exile, Worker And Waiter And Watcher.

I Had Discovered That A Person Does Not Have To Be This Or Be That Or Be Anything, Not Even Oneself. One Is Free.

Boredom Is The Self Being Stuffed With Itself.

If Poets Often Commit Suicide, It Is Not Because Their Poems Are Bad But Because They Are Good. Whoever Heard Of A Bad Poet Committing Suicide? The Reader Is Only A Little Better Off. The Exhilaration Of A Good Poem Lasts Twenty Minutes, An Hour At Most. Unlike The Scientist, The Artist Has Reentry Problems That Are Frequent And Catastrophic.

Before, I Wandered As A Diversion. Now I Wander Seriously And Sit And Read As A Diversion.