I See For Nature No

The Only Certain Freedom's In Departure.

I Cut My Own Hair. I Got Sick Of Barbers Because They Talk Too Much. And Too Much Of Their Talk Was About My Hair Coming Out.

The Sweet Of Bitter Bark And Burning Clove.

The Figure A Poem Makes. It Begins In Delight And Ends In Wisdom... In A Clarification Of Life - Not Necessarily A Great Clarification, Such As Sects And Cults Are Founded On, But In A Momentary Stay Against Confusion.

When I See Birches Bend To Left And Right... I Like To Think Some Boy's Been Swinging Them.