And All Now Is War Where So

And All Now Is War Where So Lately There Was Peace, And The Sweet Brotherhood, The Use Of Tilled Fields.

O.k. I'm Running Out Of Appetite. Let This Swirl- A Bit Like Crab Nebula- Do For Now.

The Poem, For Me, Is Simply The First Sound Realized In The Modality Of Being.

This Morning Of The Small Snow I Count The Blessings, The Leak In The Faucet Which Makes Of The Sink Time, The Drop Of The Water On Water.

The Canadian Voice Is Still Too Rustic.