All Women Are Misfits. We Do Not

It Is Not Sex That Gives The Pleasure, But The Lover.

Like Species, Couples Die Out Or Evolve.

There Is No Justice We Don't Make Daily Like Bread And Love.

The Mind Wraps Itself Around A Poem. It Is Almost Sensual, Particularly If You Work On A Computer. You Can Turn The Poem Round And About And Upside Down, Dancing With It A Kind Of Bolero Of Two Snakes Twisting And Coiling, Until The Poem Has Found Its Right And Proper Shape.

Sometimes When A Character In A Novel Is Difficult For Me To Enter, I Sue Something In Myself Or In My Own Life As A Doorway Into That Character's Mind And Emotions.