And As If Reporting Some Felony To

He Could Not Stand. It Was Not That He Could Not Thrive, He Was Born With Everything But The Will – That Can Be Deformed, Just Like A Limb. Death Was More Interesting To Him. Life Could Not Get His Attention.

Stilled Legendary Depth: It Was As Deep As England. It Held Pike Too Immense To Stir, So Immense And Old That Past Nightfall I Dared Not Cast.

The World's Decay Where The Wind's Hands Have Passed, And My Head, Worn Out With Love, At Rest In My Hands, And My Hands Full Of Dust.

Applause Is The Beginning Of Abuse

I Think It Was Milosz, The Polish Poet, Who When He Lay In A Doorway And Watched The Bullets Lifting The Cobbles Out Of The Street Beside Him Realised That Most Poetry Is Not Equipped For Life In A World Where People Actually Die. But Some Is.