If You Have Ever Gone Into The

The Language Of The Poem Is The Language Of Particulars.

I Saw That Worrying Had Come To Nothing And Gave It Up. And Took My Old Body And Went Out Into The Morning, And Sang.

The End Of Life Has Its Own Nature, Also Worth Our Attention.

Drive Down Any Road, Take A Train Or An Airplane Across The World, Leave Your Old Life Behind, Die And Be Born Again~ Wherever You Arrive They'll Be There First, Glossy And Rowdy And Indistinguishable. The Deep Muscle Of The World.

For Some Things There Are No Wrong Seasons. Which Is What I Dream Of For Me.