I'm heading for a clean-named placelike Wisconsin, and mad as a jack-o'-lantern, will get therewithout help and nosy proclivities.
A little bunny or some kind of ferret was probablythere too, and bore witness as only rodents can.
I don't look on poetry as closed works. I feel they're going on all the time in my head and I occasionally snip off a length.
The poem is sad because it wants to be yours, and cannot be.
How many people came and stayed a certain time,Uttered light or dark speech that became part of youLike light behind windblown fog and sandFiltered and influenced by it, until no partRemains that is s...
There is the view that poetry should improve your life. I think people confuse it with the Salvation Army.