Until Only Infinity Remained Of Beauty

And Just As There Are No Words For The Surface, That Is, No Words To Say What It Really Is, That It Is Not Superficial But A Visible Core, Then There Is No Way Out Of The Problem Of Pathos Vs. Experience.

I Like Poems You Can Tack All Over With A Hammer And There Are No Hollow Places.

Just Keep Playing, Mastering As You Do The Step Into Disorder This One Meant. Don't You See It's All We Can Do? Meanwhile, Great Fires Arise, As Of Haystacks Aflame. The Dial Has Been Set And That's Ominous, But All Your Graciousness In Living Conspires With It, Now That This Is Our Home: A Place To Be From, And Have People Ask About.

Death Is A New Office Building Filled With Modern Furniture, A Wise Thing, But Which Has No Purpose For Us.

The Gray Glaze Of The Past Attacks All Know-how...