The First Step... Shall Be To Lose

Is There A Mechanism Of Death, That So Mutilates Existence No One, Gets Over It Not Even The Dead?

This One Whom Habit Of Memory Propels To The Ground Of His Making, Sleeper Only The Mortal Sounds Can Sing Awake, This Blessing Love Gives Again Into Our Arms.

Goodbye, You Who Are, For Me, The Postmarks Again Of Shattered Towns--xenia, Burnt Cabins, Hornell-- Their Loneliness Given Away In Poems, Only Their Solitude Kept.

The Only Sense We Still Respect Is Eyesight, Probably Because It Is So Closely Attached To The Brain. Go Into Any American House At Random, You Will Find Something - A Plastic Flower, False Tiles, Some Imitation Something - Something Which Can Be Appreciated As Material Only If Apprehended By Eyesight Alone. Don't We Go Sightseeing In Cars, Thinking We Can Experience A Landscape By Looking At It Through Glass?

Kiss The Mouth Which Tells You, Here, Here Is The World. This Mouth. This Laughter. These Temple Bones.