Hear The Music, The Thunder Of The

I Hate My Verses, Every Line, Every Word. Oh Pale And Brittle Pencils Ever To Try One Grass-blade's Curve, Or The Throat Of One Bird That Clings To Twig, Ruffled Against White Sky. Oh Cracked And Twilight Mirrors Ever To Catch One Color, One Glinting Flash, Of The Splendor Of Things.

It Is Only A Little Planet, But How Beautiful It Is.

...science And Mathematics Run Parallel To Reality, They Symbolize It, They Squint At It, They Never Touch It: Consider What An Explosion Would Rock The Bones Of Men Into Little White Fragments And Unsky The World If Any Mind For A Moment Touch Truth.

That Public Men Publish Falsehoods Is Nothing New. That America Must Accept Like The Historical Republics Corruption And Empire Has Been Known For Years. Be Angry At The Sun For Setting If These Things Anger You.

Humanity Is The Start Of The Race; I Say Humanity Is The Mould To Break Away From, The Crust To Break Through, The Coal To Break Into Fire, The Atom To Be Split.