Understand One Single Day Fully, So You

Hour Of Stars (1920) The Round Silence Of Night, One Note On The Stave Of The Infinite. Ripe With Lost Poems, I Step Naked Into The Street. The Blackness Riddled By The Singing Of Crickets: Sound, That Dead Will-o'-the-wisp, That Musical Light Perceived By The Spirit. A Thousand Butterfly Skeletons Sleep Within My Walls. A Wild Crowd Of Young Breezes Over The River.

At First Glance, The Rhythm May Be Confused With Gaiety, But When You Look More Closely At The Mechanism Of Social Life And The Painful Slavery Of Both Men And Machines, You See That It Is Nothing But A Kind Of Typical, Empty Anguish That Makes Even Crime And Gangs Forgivable Means Of Escape.

Never Let Me Lose The Marvel Of Your Statue-like Eyes, Or The Accent The Solitary Rose Of Your Breath Places On My Cheek At Night. I Am Afraid Of Being, On This Shore, A Branchless Trunk, And What I Most Regret Is Having No Flower, Pulp, Or Clay For The Worm Of My Despair. If You Are My Hidden Treasure, If You Are My Cross, My Dampened Pain, If I Am A Dog, And You Alone My Master, Never Let Me Lose What I Have Gained, And Adorn The Branches Of Your River With Leaves Of My Estranged Autumn.

I Want To Be A Poet, From Head To Toe, Living And Dying By Poetry.

My Tongue Is Pierced With Glass.