The Form Of My Poem Rises Out

[the Essences Of Things] Are Suspended On The Invisible Dimension Whose Vibrance Has Been Denied The Human Eye At All Times Save In The Intuition Of Ecstasy.

There Are Several More Careers More Engaging To Follow Than That Of Poetry. But The Circumstances Of One's Birth, The Conduct Of One's Parents, The Current Economic Structure Of Society, And A Thousand Other Local Factors Have As Much Or More To Say About Successions To Such Occupations, The Naive Volitions Of The Poet To The Contrary.

Let My Lusts Be My Ruin, Then, Since All Else Is A Fake And A Mockery.

Goodbye, Everybody! (suicide Note)

One Must Be Drenched In Words, Literally Soaked In Them.