I Went With My Very

German Poetry Is Going In A Very Different Direction From French Poetry.... Its Language Has Become More Sober, More Factual. It Distrusts "beauty." It Tries To Be Truthful.

Each Arrow You Shoot Off Carries Its Own Target Into The Decidedly Secret Tangle

A Nothing We Were, Are, Shall Remain, Flowering: The Nothing--, The No One's Rose.

Read! Read All The Time, The Understanding Will Come By Itself.

The Two Heart-grey Puddles: Two Mouthsfull Of Silence.