Since The Day Of My

The Poet Is At The Disposal Of The Night. His Role Is Humble, He Must Clean House And Await Its Due Visitation.

The World Owes Its Enchantment To These Curious Creatures And Their Fancies; But Its Multiple Complicity Rejects Them. Thistledown Spirits, Tragic, Heartrending In Their Evanescence, They Must Go Blowing Headlong To Perdition.

I Have Lost My Seven Best Friends, Which Is To Say God Has Had Mercy On Me Seven Times Without Realizing It. He Lent A Friendship, Took It From Me, Sent Me Another.

Everyone's Pet Is The Most Outstanding. This Begets Mutual Blindness.

The Joy Of Youth Is To Disobey; But The Trouble Is That There Are No Longer Any Orders.