Is It In These Bottomless Nights That

I May Die Of Earthly Love, Or Of Devotion.

No One's Serious At Seventeen.

...these Poets Here, You See, They Are Not Of This World:let Them Live Their Strange Life; Let Them Be Cold And Hungry, Let Them Run, Love And Sing: They Are As Rich As Jacques Coeur, All These Silly Children, For They Have Their Souls Full Of Rhymes, Rhymes Which Laugh And Cry, Which Make Us Laugh Or Cry: Let Them Live: God Blesses All The Merciful: And The World Blesses The Poets.

I Shed More Tears Than God Could Ever Have Required.

I Wrote Silences; Nights; I Recorded The Unnameable.