I'm Sorry, But I Was Born With

The Flowers Are Ravined By Bees, The Fruit Blossoms Are Thrown To The Ground, The Wind The Rain Forces Everything.

The Heroes Of The Present Will Retreat To The Imitation They Are Anyhow.

An American Is A Complex Of Occasions, Themselves A Geometry Of Spatial Nature.

I Take Space To Be The Central Fact To Man Born In America. I Spell It Large Because It Comes Large Here. Large And Without Mercy.

My Life Has Been Given Its Orders: The Seasons Seize The Soul And The Body, And Make Mock Of Any Dispersed Effort. The Hour Of Death Is The Only Trespass