Money is sullen And wisdom is sly, But youth is the pollen That blows through the sky And does not ask why.

The art finds kingdoms in a foot of ground.

And Thames and all the rivers of the kings Ran into Mississippi and were drowned. They planted England with a stubborn trust But the cleft dust was never English dust.

I am tired of loving a foreign muse.

Whatever poetry that was in me was coming out in the form of constructing art books!

There's nothing compared to the history of writing about the city of New York that you get, say, in Charles Reznikoff.

The blog is also a way to continue to register what I see and hear in a day - no matter what the form. In fact, my blog is a complete mixture of forms.