The Poem Is Sad Because It Wants

The First Year Was Like Icing. Then The Cake Started To Show Through.

I Don't Want To Read What Is Going To Slide Down Easily; There Has To Be Some Crunch, A Certain Amount Of Resilience.

The Poem Is Sad Because It Wants To Be Yours, And Cannot Be.

Alone With Our Madness And Favorite Flower We See That There Really Is Nothing Left To Write About. Or Rather, It Is Necessary To Write About The Same Old Things In The Same Way, Repeating The Same Things Over And Over For Love To Continue And Be Gradually Different.

Part Of The Strength Of Pollock And Rothko's Art, In Fact, Is This Doubt As To Whether Art May Be There At All.