I Always Cause Those Who Are Near

Where The Light Is, And Each Thing Clear,separate From All Others, Standing In Its Place,i Drink The Time And Touch Whatever's Near,and Hope For Day When The Whole World Has That Face:for What Assures Her Present Every Year?in Dark Accidents The Mind's Sufficient Grace.

Poetry Must Be As New As Foam & Old As Rock.

I Am A Book I Neither Wrote Nor Read.

How The False Truths Of The Years Of Youth Have Passed!have Passed At Full Speed Like Trains Which Never Stoppedthere Where I Stood And Waited, Hardly Aware,how Little I Knew, Or Which Of Them Was The Oneto Mount And Ride To Hope Or Where True Hope Arrives.

And Hence The Poet Must Seek To Be Essentially Anonymous, He Must Die A Little Death Each Morning, He Must Swallow His Toad And Study His Vomit As Baudelaire Studied La Charogne Of Jeanne Duval.