"There is no better preface to poetry than poetry itself. So be it, my Dearer Reader: ""Language is all I seek because I'm tongueless. And because I'm tongueless, and because my tonguelessness is too great to bear upon my body, I'm a Tongueless Bird. Yet burning memories all a-kindled still thorn me & sting me on the tongue, so I sing. And I sing throatily. ""And when I sing, since all this heaviness on the heart would not be sung out, my lips treble nocturnal murmurs in an attempt to burn the unutterable grief away, while all the earth yonder there under my winged roof is all swept at peaceful sleepSo am I a Bird Bird Blue Bird. ""I wish I would be born a Blue Bird, the body dipped in sky water, the voice in cool wringing Blue, with all the memories blown away Lull the Red, Blue Bird, Poor-memoried Bird, Blue-bucketed, imbued Blue, Fly high, Fly Forget, and Melt all memories so Blue so that when I, a Tongueless Bird migrate across the sky, people may not understand a jot why the sky is so beautiful and so luridly beautiful like all burning hell-like blood, like furious lime-like blood Bird Bird Blue Bird, Blow away, tare the Sky, open the bloodshot Heart, Oh. Red-breasted migrating bird... Bird Bird Blue Bird, my Poor Tongueless Bird. (""bird bird Blue bird"") (italics)If you want to know what Love's bite tastes like, then the poetry is for you, sweet or bitter, warm or cold. If you want to find out why one woman thought she was dying of an erupted heart by her bloodful ink gushing like red wine, then the poetry is for you.(itaics)"