I Want A Bedroom Near The Sky,

It Is Written In The Book Of Usable Minutes That All Things Have Their Center In Their Dying.

The First Year Was Like Icing. Then The Cake Started To Show Through.

And We May Be Led, Then, Upward Through More Powerful Forms Of Poetry, Past Columns With Peeling Posters On Them, To The Country Of Indifference. Meanwhile If The Swell Diapasons, Blooms Unhappily And Too Soon, The Little People Are Nonetheless Real.

Each Servant Stamps The Reader With A Look.

What Is The Past, What Is It All For? A Mental Sandwich?