I Am Awakened Each Dawn Increasingly To

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.

I Think A Young Poet, Or An Old Poet, For That Matter, Should Try To Produce Something That Pleases Himself Personally, Not Only When He's Written It But A Couple Of Weeks Later. Then He Should See If It Pleases Anyone Else, By Sending It To The Kind Of Magazine He Likes Reading.

What Are Days For? Days Are Where We Live.

Life Has A Practice Of Living You, If You Don't Live It.

Any Memory For The Most Part Depending On Chance.