Treat A Man Like Dirt-he Produces Flowers.

It Is With Roses And Locomotives (not To Mention Acrobats Spring Electricity Coney Island The 4th Of July The Eyes Of Mice And Niagara Falls) That My Poems Are Competing.

Maybe God Is A Child ‘s Hand)very Carefully Bring -ing To You And To Me(and Quite With Out Crushing)the Papery Weightless Diminutive World With A Hole In It Out Of Which Demons With Wings Would Be Streaming If Something Had(maybe They Couldn’t Agree)not Happened(and Floating- Ly Int O

Anyone Lived In A Pretty How Town (with Up So Floating Many Bells Down) Spring Summer Autumn Winter He Sang His Didn't He Danced His Did.

Your Slightest Look Easily Will Unclose Me, Though I Have Closed Myself As Fingers, You Open Petal By Petal Myself A Spring Opens Her First Rose.

The Most Wasted Of All Days Is One Without Laughter.