In Love, You Have Loosened Yourself Like

I Love You As The Plant That Never Blooms But Carries In Itself The Light Of Hidden Flowers; Thanks To Your Love A Certain Solid Fragrence Risen From The Earth, Lives Darkly In My Body. And: No One Can Stop The River Of Your Hands, Your Eyes And Their Sleepiness, My Dearest. You Are The Trembling Of Time, Which Passes Between The Vertical Light And The Darkening Sky. And: From The Stormy Archipelagoes I Brought My Windy Accordian, Waves Of Crazy Rain, The Habitual Slowness Of Natural Things: They Made Up My Wild Heart.

As If You Were On Fire From Within. The Moon Lives In The Lining Of Your Skin.

I've Come Within Range Of Hate. Terrifying, Its Tremors, Its Dizzying Obsessions. Hate's Like A Swordfish Invisible In The Water, Knifing Suddenly Into Sight With Blood On Its Blade- Clear Water Misleads You.

And What Has Become Of It, Where Is That Onetime Love? Now It Is The Grave Of A Bird, A Drop Of Black Quartz, A Chunk Of Wood Eroded By The Rain.

Political Poetry Is More Profoundly Emotional Than Any Other-at Least As Much As Love Poetry-and Cannot Be Forced Because Then It Becomes Vulgar And Unacceptable. It Is Necessary First To Pan Though All Other Poetry In Order To Become A Political Poet.