It Is Worth While Dying, To Find

A Thousand Policemen Directing Traffic Cannot Tell You Why You Come Or Where You Go.

The Poet's Mind Is In Fact A Receptacle For Seizing And Storing Up Numberless Feelings, Phrases, Images, Which Remain There Until All The Particles Which Can Unite To Form A New Compound Are Present Together.

We Had The Experience But Missed The Meaning. And Approach To The Meaning Restores The Experience In A Different Form.

Signs Are Taken For Wonders. / 'we Would See A Sign!' / The Word Within A Word, Unable To Speak A Word, / Swaddled With Darkness.

But It Seems That Something Has Happened That Has Never Happened Before: Though We Know Not Just When, Or Why, Or How, Or Where.