I didn't know the names of the flowers - now my garden is gone.

There is nothing to be learned from history anymore. We're in science fiction now.

one must verge on the unknown, write toward the truth hitherto unrecognizable of one’s own sincerity, including the avoidable beauty of doom, shame, and embarrassment, that very area of personal self-recognition,(detailed individual is universal remember) which formal conventions, internalized, keep us from discovering in ourselves and others

Our heads are round so thought can change direction

We are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter

I am learning by the week, but my poesy is still not my own. New rhyme, new me me me in words. I am not all this carven rhetoric.

Follow your inner moonlight; don't hide the madness.