Written by: Shelly Berkeley

                                                  The poet writes from
                                                   heart not head, and 
                                                          from his nib 
                                                     poised words are 
                                               bled upon spun papyrus. 
                                           Drawn deep from inkwells in 
                                      his soul, both veracity and chimera
                                 flow into word wonderment. From poet’s 
                           veins there flows a stream, vernacular eddies,
                           profound, extreme, give way to eloquence.  On 
                      hardened pulp, at his bequest, wounds once found  
                            beneath his flesh have now been given voice.