I Glory In This World Of Men

I Have Become Infected, Now That I See How Beautifully A Book Is Coming Out Of All This.

Poetry Is A Section Of River-fog And Moving Boat-lights, Delivered Between Bridges And Whistles, So One Says, 'oh!' And Another, 'how?'

Revolt And Terror Pay A Price. Order And Law Have A Cost.

Now Is The Time. It Is Never Too Late To Start Something.

Time Is A Sandpile We Run Our Fingers In.