Your Work Is Carved Out Of Agony

O Remember In Your Narrowing Dark Hours That More Things Move Than Blood In The Heart.

The Poem Is Always The Last Resort. In It The Poet Makes A World In Little, And Finds Peace, Even Though, Under Complete Focused Emotion, The Evocation Be Far More Bitter Than Reality, Or Far More Lovely.

At Midnight Tears Run Into Your Ears.

I Have Lost Faith In Universal Panaceas - Work Is The One Thing In Which I Really Believe.

The Terrible Beast, That No One May Understand, Came To My Side, And Put Down His Head In Love.