Take Your Foot Out Of The Graveyard,

The Day Of Fire Is Coming, The Thrush Will Fly Ablaze Like A Little Sky Rocket.

I Like You; Your Eyes Are Full Of Language." [letter To Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.]

I Would Like A Simple Life / Yet All Night I Am Laying / Poems Away In A Long Box.

There Is A Good Look That I Wear Like A Blood Clot. I Have Sewn It Over My Left Breast. I Have Made A Vocation Of It.

I Grow Old On My Bitterness.