If I Added To Their Pride Of

I Make It Clear Why I Write As I Do And Why Other Poets Write As They Do. After Hundreds Of Experiments I Decided To Go My Own Way In Style And See What Would Happen.

There Is Only One Man In The World And His Name Is All Men. There Is Only One Woman In The World And Her Name Is All Women. There Is Only One Child In The World And The Child's Name Is All Children.

And How Should A Beautiful, Ignorant Stream Of Water Know It Heads For An Early Release — Out Across The Desert, Running Toward The Gulf, Below Sea Level, To Murmur Its Lullaby, And See The Imperial Valley Rise Out Of Burning Sand With Cotton Blossoms, Wheat, Watermelons, Roses, How Should It Know?

Poetry Is A Puppet-show, Where Riders Of Skyrockets And Divers Of Sea Fathoms Gossip About The Sixth Sense And The Fourth Dimension.

Two Bubbles Found They Had Rainbows On Their Curves. They Flickered Out Saying: "it Was Worth Being A Bubble, Just To Have Held That Rainbow Thirty Seconds.