I Hope That One Or

Perhaps This Very Instant Is Your Time.

Song, Like A Wing, Tears Through My Breast, My Side, And Madness Chooses Out My Voice Again, Again.

I Don't Like Quintessential Certitude.

O God, In The Dream The Terrible Horse Began To Paw At The Air, And Make For Me With His Blows.

It Is Not Possible, For A Poet, Writing In Any Language, To Protect Himself From The Tragic Elements In Human Life.... [ellipsis In Source] Illness, Old Age, And Death--subjects As Ancient As Humanity--these Are The Subjects That The Poet Must Speak Of Very Nearly From The First Moment That He Begins To Speak.