Separate We Come, And Separate We Go,

I've Tried It Long Ago, With Hashish And Peyote. Fascinating, Yes, But No Good, No. This, As We Find In Alcohol, Is An Escape From Awareness, A Cheat, A Momentary Substitution, And In The End A Destruction Of It.

I Ascend From Darkness And Depart On The Winds Of Space For I Know Not Where; My Watch Is Wound, A Key Is In My Pocket, And The Sky Is Darkened As I Descend The Stair.

We Are The Ghosts Of The Singing Furies .

I Think That What's Happening Today, With All The Young Poets Rushing From One College To Another, Lecturing At The Drop Of A Hat And So On, Is Not Too Good; I Think It Might Have A Bad Effect On A Great Many Of The Young Poets. They - To Quote Mark Twain - "swap Juices" A Little Too Much, So That They Are In Danger Of Losing Their Own Identity And Don't Give Themselves Time Enough In Which To Work Out What's Really Of Importance To Them - They're Too Busy.

Death Is Never An Ending, Death Is A Change; Death Is Beautiful, For Death Is Strange; Death Is One Dream Out Of Another Flowing.