for Stan Dragland and for Kris Coleman The wilderness of our youth, an empty barn,dancing with friends into the small hours,then daylight and the cars swerving awaywordless into the dawn It arrives all at once tonight,not as memory, but as . . .
There were two alternatives that presented themselves to me during my teens. What I was told I would or should be, and what I wished to be. Every year, at my school in England, career advisers arrived, spoke to you . . .
Introduction to The New Brick Reader