I Like Poems You Can Tack All

And The Way Though Discontinuous, And Intermittent, Sometimes Not Heard Of For Years At A Time, Did, Nonetheless, Move Up, Although, To His Surprise It Was Inside The House, And Always Getting Narrower.

Expecting Rain, The Profile Of A Day Wears Its Soul Like A Hat.

Somewhere Someone Is Traveling Furiously Toward You, At Incredible Speed, Traveling Day And Night.

I Feel That Poetry Is Going On All The Time Inside, An Underground Stream.

I Want A Bedroom Near The Sky, An Astrologer's Cave Where I Can Fashion Eclogues That Are Chaste And Grave.