There Is A Grace Of Life Which

The Body Whips The Soul. In Its Great Desire It Demands The Elixir In The Roar Of Spring, Transmutations.

I Defer To All These Other American Poets Who, For Some Reason, I Both Envy And Admire.

You Can Do Anything, Really. And That, L Think, Is One Of The Exciting Possibilities Of The Present, L Swear, Is The Possibility That The Goddamn Thing Can Be Modaled Throughout.

Forgive Me If I Sleep Until I Wake Up.

There Are No Hierarchies, No Infinite, No Such Many As Mass, There Are Only/ Eyes In All Heads,/ To Be Looked Out Of.