Nothing Has Changed Since I Began. My

You Are Who You Choose To Be.

The Deeps Are Cold: In That Darkness Camaraderie Does Not Hold: Nothing Touches But, Clutching, Devours.

But Who Is Stronger Than Death? Me , Evidently .

The Inmost Spirit Of Poetry, In Other Words, Is At Bottom, In Every Recorded Case, The Voice Of Pain – And The Physical Body, So To Speak, Of Poetry, Is The Treatment By Which The Poet Tries To Reconcile That Pain With The World.

So The Self Under The Eye Lies, Attendant And Withdrawn.