Treat A Man Like Dirt-he Produces Flowers.

How Should Tasting Touching Hearing Seeing Breathing Any Lifted From The No Of All Nothing Human Merely Being Doubt Unimaginable You?

In A Middle Of A Room Stands A Suicide Sniffing A Paper Rose Smiling To A Self "somewhere It Is Spring And Sometimes People Are In Real:imagine Somewhere Real Flowers,but I Can't Imagine Real Flowers For If I Could,they Would Somehow Not Be Real" (so He Smiles Smiling)"but I Will Not Everywhere Be Real To You In A Moment" The Is Blond With Small Hands "& Everything Is Easier Than I Had Guessed Everything Would Be;even Remembering The Way Who Looked At Whom First,anyhow Dancing

Meanwhile Myself Et Cetera Lay Quietly In The Deep Mud Et Cetera (dreaming, Et Cetera, Of Your Smile Eyes Knees And Of Your Etcetera.)

My Advice To All Young People Who Wish To Become Poets Is: Do Something Easy, Like Learning How To Blow Up The World - Unless You're Not Only Willing, But Glad, To Feel And Work And Fight Till You Die.

O Sweet Spontaneous Earth How Often Has The Naughty Thumb Of Science Prodded Thy Beauty Thou Answereth Them Only With Spring.