The Human Creature Is Alone In His

This Is The Simplest Of All Thoughts, That Death Must Come When We Call, Although He Is A God.

The Flower And Fruit Of Love Are Mine The Ant, The Fieldmouse And The Mole

The Human Creature Is Alone In His Carapace. Poetry Is A Strong Way Out.

Youth Is An Arithmetical Statement Of Passing Interest, Each Hour Eats It Up.

Oh, No No No, It Was Too Cold Always (still The Dead One Lay Moaning) I Was Much Too Far Out All My Life And Not Waving But Drowning.