People Always Make War When They Say

I'll Do My Life Work, Sticking Up For The Love Between Man And Woman.

Necessary, Forever Necessary, To Burn Out False Shames And Smelt The Heaviest Ore Of The Body Into Purity.

It Seems To Me A Purely Lyric Poet Gives Himself, Right Down To His Sex, To His Mood, Utterly And Abandonedly, Whirls Himself Roundtill He Spontaneously Combusts Into Verse. He Has Nothing That Goes On, No Passion, Only A Few Intense Moods, Separate Like Odd Stars, And When Each Has Burned Away, He Must Die.

That's It! When You Come To Know Men, That's How They Are: Too Sensitive In The Wrong Place.

But I Like The Feel Of Men On Things, While They're Alive. There's A Feel Of Men About Trucks, Because They've Been Handled With Men's Hands, All Of Them.