To James Elkins
This is life. In a pocket. The one just above my head. Orpimine and jewel-toned, translucent like a skin, illuminating the deeper life just behind its thinning coat.
This is the way we live. On our words, strung on a line, propelling each sentence, each one building on the last. The whole thing creating a momentum of alliteration guided perfectly by their awareness
We apprentice ourselves, we light our own fires and by our words discover a beautiful and boundless place of deterministic self-creation.
"It is difficult to get news from poems, yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there." - William Carlos Williams.