Death: The Anaesthetic From Which None Come

Boys Dream Of Native Girls Who Bring Breadfruit, Whatever They Are.

Dear, I Can't Write, It's All A Fantasy: A Kind Of Circling Obsession.

What Are Days For? Days Are Where We Live. They Come, They Wake Us Time And Time Over. Theyare To Be Happy In: Where Can We Live But Days?

Parting Is A Training Streamer,lingering Like Leaves In Autumn.

I Think We Got Much Better Poetry When It Was All Regarded As Sinful Or Subversive, And You Had To Hide It Under The Cushion When Somebody Came In.