The Ear Is The Only True Writer

Loyalty Is That For The Lack Of Which Your Gang Will Shoot You Without Benefit Of Trial By Jury.

When The Spent Sun Throws Up Its Rays On Cloud And Goes Down Burning Into The Gulf Below, No Voice In Nature Is Heard To Cry Aloud At What Has Happened. Birds, At Least Must Know It Is The Change To Darkness In The Sky. Murmuring Something Quiet In Her Breast, One Bird Begins To Close A Faded Eye; Or Overtaken Too Far From His Nest, Hurrying Low Above The Grove, Some Waif Swoops Just In Time To His Remembered Tree. At Most He Thinks Or Twitters Softly, 'safe! Now Let The Night Be Dark For All Of Me. Let The Night Be Too Dark For Me To See Into The Future. Let What Will Be, Be.

The First Thing I Do In The Morning Is To Make My Bed And While I Am Making Up My Bed I Am Making Up My Mind As To What Kind Of A Day I Am Going To Have.

Before Now Poetry Has Taken Notice Of Wars, And What Are Wars But Politics Transformed From Chronic To Acute And Bloody?

Leaves And Bark, Leaves And Bark, To Lean Against And Hear In The Dark. Petals I May Have Once Pursued. Leaves Are All My Darker Mood.