Henry takes my writing seriously in a way that I can only humbly appreciate. or maybe not humbly. see: as dumb as I sound, or superficial, in this playful arena, I have put mental effort to what I 'do', as a writer. the piece to which Henry refers carries my intention, even if I didn't begin with a paragraph of theorhetical construction. I recognize an emotional value, one that cozzens to certain New York poets, say, or the exciting sight of the GW Bridge. I take that emotion seriously enough, that the words that I write will ride properly. maybe I am unnecessarily defensive about this. there is a an obvious care to Henry's work, and to Ron Silliman's work (hail to thee, strange bedfellows) which, I surmise, is less obvious in my work. but my writing possesses care as well. I think my integration is done on a different level. blah blah, of course, I don't mean to preen. I rarely see comments on my work, but find the preceptions useful.