I write because I cannot not write. Coming from literary parents, and,

until the age of twelve, not having met anyone who was not writing a book,

there is major guilt involved in not writing.

The English language, though not my mother tongue,

remains my first love,

with all the maddening lack of comprehension and a certain

unrequited quality that goes with that expression.

I often imagine myself at the center of attention of a brilliant gathering, but

then, like a splash of cold water, reality strikes.

What's in here, in this vanity web site, is what I have managed

so far.

Am I beating myself up rather too much? Judge for yourself.

Email me.

mind thereto attached, to float free: the orb floats, a blue green

wonder: so to touch the structures as to free them into rafts

that reveal the tide: many rafts to ride and the tides make a

place to go: let's go and regard the structures, the six-starred

Easter lily, the beans feeling up the stakes: we are gliding: we

are gliding: ask the astronomer, if you don't believe it: but

motion as a summary of time and space is gliding us: for a while,

we may ride such forces: then , we must get off: but now this

beats any amusement park by the shore: our Ferris wheel, what a

wheel: our roller coaster, what mathematics of stoop and climb: sew

my name on my cap: we're clear: we're ourselves: we are sailing.

- A.R. Ammons

"Sphere: the Form Of A Motion"