For The Serious Artist Does Not Satisfy

All Art Preserves Mysteries Which Aesthetic Philosophers Tackle In Vain.

It Was Like A Bird Of Rarest-spun Heaven Metal Or Like Silvery Wine Flowing In A Spaceship, Gravity All Nonsense Now.

Fumbling For A Word Is Everybody's Birthright.

Laws And Conditions Appropriate To A Mechanical Creation, Against This I Raise My Sword-pen.

How Wicked, My Brothers, Innocent Milk Must Always Seem To Me Now.