Think Of The Long Trip

There Are Some People Whom We Envy Not Because They Are Rich Or Handsome Or Successful, Although They May Be All Or Any Of These, But Because Everything They Are Or Do Seems To Be All Of A Piece, So That Even If They Wanted To They Could Not Be Or Do Otherwise.

The Armored Cars Of Dreams, Contrived To Let Us Do So Many A Dangerous Thing.

Dreams Were The Worst. Of Course I Dreamed Of Food And Love, But They Were Pleasant Rather Than Otherwise. But Then I'd Dream Of Things Like Slitting A Baby's Throat, Mistaking It For A Baby Goat. I'd Have Nightmares Of Other Islands Stretching Away From Mine, Infinities Of Islands, Islands Spawning Islands, Like Frogs' Eggs Turning Into Polliwogs Of Islands, Knowing That I Had To Live On Each And Every One, Eventually, For Ages, Registering Their Flora, Their Fauna, Their Geography.

Why Shouldn't We, So Generally Addicted To The Gigantic, At Last Have Some Small Works Of Art, Some Short Poems, Short Pieces Of Music [...], Some Intimate, Low-voiced, And Delicate Things In Our Mostly Huge And Roaring, Glaring World?

Heaven Is Not Like Flying Or Swimming, But Has Something To Do With Blackness And A Strong Glare.