Poetry Is What Happens When An Anxiety

They Say That If You Get Bored Enough With Calamity You Can Learn To Laugh.

I Am Quite Alone. I Am Neither Happy Nor Unhappy; I Lie Suspended Like A Hair Or A Feather In The Cloudy Mixtures Of Memory.

Guilt Always Hurries Towards Its Complement, Punishment: Only There Does Its Satisfaction Lie.

He Thought And Suffered A Good Deal But He Lacked The Resolution To Dare--the First Requisite Of A Practitioner.

Does Not Everything Depend On Our Interpretation Of The Silence Around Us?