God Made Food; The Devil The Cooks.

Like The Tender Fires Of Stars Moments Of Their Life Together, That No One Knew Of Or Would Ever Know Of, Broke Upon And Illuminated His Memory.

O Thanks Be To The Great God I Got Somebody To Give Me What I Badly Wanted To Put Some Heart Up Into Me Youve No Chances At All Inthis Place Like You Used Long Ago I Wish Somebody Would Write Me A Loveletter.

Poetry, Even When Apparently Most Fantastic, Is Always A Revolt Against Artifice, A Revolt, In A Sense, Against Actuality.

Alone, What Did Bloom Feel? The Cold Of Interstellar Space, Thousands Of Degrees Below Freezing Point Or The Absolute Zero Of Fahrenheit, Centigrade Or Réaumur: The Incipient Intimations Of Proximate Dawn.

When The Soul Of A Man Is Born In This Country There Are Nets Flown At It To Hold It Back From Flight.