A Poem Begins With A Lump In

Such Heaps Of Broken Glass To Sweep Away / You'd Think The Inner Dome Of Heaven Had Fallen.

The Line-storm Clouds Fly Tattered And Swift, The Road Is Forlorn All Day, Where A Myriad Snowy Quartz Stones Lift, And The Hoof-prints Vanish Away. The Roadside Flowers, Too Wet For The Bee, Expend Their Bloom In Vain. Come Over The Hills And Far With Me, And Be My Love In The Rain.

I Play Better Tennis Because The Court Is There.

Meditate Nothing. Learn To Contemplate. Contemplate Glory. There Will Be A Light. Contemplate Truth Until It Burns Your Eyes Out.

Far More Violence Has Been Done In Obeying The Law Than In Breaking The Law.