If Mark Twain is "the Lincoln of our literature", then Apollo Starmule is the Walt Whitman of our literature, and perhaps Walt Whitman was President of the United States. It pays not to take our history too literally. Patterning is the thing. And Patterning is flexible and gracious to those who know Her, while remaining invisible to the profane. And all those who are conscious of themselves in Patterning's embrace share themselves with one another, so that contributions are often indistinct in their origins . . . and no literal-minded historian has ever seen anything of origins, not even of the origins of the blocks of stone in his head. But with "AH, MAN! A Slim Volume of Poetry" Apollo Starmule reveals a bit of the transmutation of brick into soil thru the search for redemption, that the mere historians among us will begin to realize that their past is not our future, because their past was never real to begin with. Their past is not even their own future, if they finally work up the courage to step up to the plate and claim their Destiny. To heal the past, it is necessary to release unstable, unusable elements as we transform the space that once housed those elements into something resembling a golden temple of passion, and of compassion. Darkness ignored is darkness that rules the ignorant. Darkness transmuted reveals the plane of pure golden livingness, and becomes a part of that livingness. Selah.