The Poet Lights The Light And Fades

A Toad, Can Die Of Light - Death Is The Common Right Of Toads And Men

There Is A Pain So Utter, It Swallows Being Up; The Covers The Abyss With A Trance So Memory Can Step Around, Across, Upon It.

To Be Alive Is Power; Existence In Itself; Without A Further Function; Omnipotence.

If I Read A Book And It Makes My Whole Body So Cold No Fire Can Warm Me, I Know That Is Poetry. If I Feel Physically As If The Top Of My Head Were Taken Off, I Know That Is Poetry. These Are The Only Ways I Know It. Is There Any Other Way?

Life Is A Spell So Exquisite That Everything Conspires To Break It.