The Poem, For Me, Is Simply The

One Loves Only Form, And Form Only Comes Into Existence When The Thing Is Born.

I'm Trying To Climb Up Both Walls At Once.

My Life Has Been Given Its Orders: The Seasons Seize The Soul And The Body, And Make Mock Of Any Dispersed Effort. The Hour Of Death Is The Only Trespass

You Don't Help People In Your Poems. I've Been Trying To Help People All My Life - That's My Trouble

Fact Is Based Upon Vulgar Matter.