We Tend To Put Poems Into Factions.

One Joins The Movement In A Valueless World, Choosing It, Till Both Hurler And The Hurled, One Moves As Well, Always Toward, Toward.

I Think Most Men, Heterosexual And Homosexual, Enjoy Being Considered Sexual Objects.

I Had Assumed That I Would Age With All My Friends Growing Old Around Me, Dying Off Very Gradually One By One. And Here Was A Plague That Cut Them Off So Early.

I Work Best In Rhyme And Meter. I Was Most Confident Of Myself In That Way.

My Thoughts Are Crowded With Death And It Draws So Oddly On The Sexual That I Am Confused To Be Attracted By, In Effect, My Own Annihilation.