These Fragments I Have Shored Against My

Distracted From Distraction By Distraction

Poetry Is A Mug's Game.

In Order To Arrive At What You Are Not, You Must Go Through The Way In Which You Are Not.

The Wounded Surgeon Plies The Steel That Questions The Distempered Part; Beneath The Bleeding Hands We Feel The Sharp Compassion Of The Healer's Art Resolving The Enigma Of The Fever Chart.

The End Is Where We Start From.