It's Morning, And Again I Am That

I Don't Want To End Up Simply Having Visited This World.

The Poem In Which The Reader Does Not Feel Himself Or Herself A Participant Is A Lecture, Listened To From An Uncomfortable Chair, In A Stuffy Room, Inside A Building.

It Is What I Was Born For - To Look, To Listen, To Lose Myself Inside This Soft World - To Instruct Myself Over And Over.

I Took One Look And Fell, Hook And Tumble.

It's Not A Competition, It's A Doorway.