I Am! I Have Come Through! I

I Can Remember Only A Few Of The Strange And Curious Words Now Dead But Living And Spoken By The English People A Thousand Years Ago.

I Been A Wanderin' Early And Late, New York City To The Golden Gate An' It Looks Like I'm Never Gonna Cease My Wanderin'.

And All Poets Love Dust And Mist Because All The Last Answers. Go Running Back To Dust And Mist.

Tongues Wrangled Dark At A Man. He Buttoned His Overcoat And Stood Alone. In A Snowstorm, Red Hollyberries, Thoughts, He Stood Alone.

Poetry Is The Establishment Of A Metaphorical Link Between White Butterfly-wings And The Scraps Of Torn-up Love-letters.