But My Future Is A Secret. /

Of Course The New Testament Is Very Small. Its Mouth Opens Four Times As Out-of-date As A Prehistoric Monster, Yet Somehow Man-made.

I Like You; Your Eyes Are Full Of Language." [letter To Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.]

Fear / A Motor, / Pumps Me Around And Around / Until I Fade Slowly.

Perhaps I Am No One. True, I Have A Body And I Cannot Escape From It. I Would Like To Fly Out Of My Head, But That Is Out Of The Question.

Now, In My Middle Age, About Nineteen In The Head I'd Say, I Am Rowing, I Am Rowing.