If Millions Are Born Millions Must Die.

Well: The Day Is A Poem But Too Much Like One Of Jeffers's, Crusted With Blood And Barbaric Omens Painful To Excess, Inhuman As A Hawk's Cry.

Meteors Are Not Needed Less Than Mountains: Shine, Perishing Republic.

Poetry Is Not A Civilizer, Rather The Reverse, For Great Poetry Appeals To The Most Primitive Instincts.

Hear The Music, The Thunder Of The Wings. Love The Wild Swan.

This Wild Swan Of A World Is No Hunter's Game.