There are names of things and there is the One whose name cannot be named. The mysticism in my poetry is its fount and a fare portion of its inaccessibility. When relating to the largesse truths, to get close to what you want, to describe, to name, is to inherently fall short. The realty of poetry is that it is just, a never-ending odyssey, naming things that aren’t just things. And, at a minimum, like Mark Twain so aptly put it: “The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between “lightning” and “lightning bug.” I might add: the difference between “God” and “God-light” — or “God” and “gods.”
Name of Names
God visits me
In the dark
With my eyes clothed
Soully unveiling
Naked truths
That cannot be duplicated
Buy men of letters
How ever many
Fallowing
There name of names
