Many Of My Poems Are Not Sexual.

I Don't Know How To Sit Outside Myself And Test Against A Hypothetical Self Who Stayed Home.

How Sociable The Garden Was. We Ate And Talked In Given Light. The Children Put Their Toys To Grass All The Warm Wakeful August Night.

We Tend To Put Poems Into Factions. And It Restricts Our Reading.

One Joins The Movement In A Valueless World, Choosing It, Till Both Hurler And The Hurled, One Moves As Well, Always Toward, Toward.

I Think Most Men, Heterosexual And Homosexual, Enjoy Being Considered Sexual Objects.