Death: The Anaesthetic From Which None Come

In Everyone There Sleeps A Sense Of Life Lived According To Love.

The Trees Are Coming Into Leaf Like Something Almost Being Said.

Only One Ship Is Seeking Us, A Black-sailed Unfamiliar, Towing At Her Backa Huge And Birdless Silence. In Her Wakeno Waters Breed Or Break.

Now, Helpless In The Hollow Of An Unarmorial Age, A Trough Of Smoke In Slow Suspended Skeins Above Their Scrap Of History, Only An Attitude Remains: Time Has Transfigured Them Into Untruth. The Stone Finality They Hardly Meant Has Come To Be Their Final Blazon, And To Prove Our Almost-instinct Almost True: What Will Survive Of Us Is Love.

The Only Way To Eliminate Unemployment Is To Eliminate Unemployment Benefits.