They've Healed Me To Pieces.

How You Die Out In Me: Down To The Last Worn-out Knot Of Breath You're There, With A Splinter Of Life.

They've Healed Me To Pieces.

There Was Earth Inside Them, And They Dug.

German Poetry Is Going In A Very Different Direction From French Poetry.... Its Language Has Become More Sober, More Factual. It Distrusts "beauty." It Tries To Be Truthful.

The Language With Which I Make My Poems Has Nothing To Do With One Spoken Here, Or Anywhere.