Life Is Used Up All The Same,

Conformity Makes Everything Easier, If You Can Still Breathe.

In The Great Cities, Winter Glitters With Art And Feasting. But Poetry, The Country Cousin, Sees Only The Dearth Of The Fields.

Most Of Us Live In A World That Has Ceased To Exist.

We Worship The Aesthetic, But We Do Not Have Faith In It.

Old Among The Young, Poor Among The Rich, I Adopt An Air Of Indefinable Superiority.