Silly Girls Your Heads Full Of Boys

I Don't Want To Read What Is Going To Slide Down Easily; There Has To Be Some Crunch, A Certain Amount Of Resilience.

A Yak Is A Prehistoric Cabbage; Of That, We Can Be Sure.

Its A Bit Mad. Too Bad, I Mean, That Getting To Know Each Just For A Fleeting Second Must Be Replaced By Unperfect Knowledge Of The Featureless Whole Like Some Pocket History Of The World, So General As To Constitute A Sob Or Wail

I Don't Look On Poetry As Closed Works. I Feel They're Going On All The Time In My Head And I Occasionally Snip Off A Length.

Each Servant Stamps The Reader With A Look.