The walk liberating, I was released from forms, from the perpendiculars, straight lines, blocks, boxes, binds of thought into the hues, shadings, rises, flowing bends and blends of sight.

The white sun like a moth on a string circles the southpole.

I take the walk to be the externalization of an interior seeking so that the analogy is first of all between the external and the internal.

Each poem in becoming generates the laws by which it is generated: extensions of the laws to other poems never completely take.

A poem generated by its own laws may be unrealized and bad in terms of so-called objective principles of taste, judgement, deduction.

What destruction have I been blessed by?

I can't tell you where a poem comes from, what it is, or what it is for: nor can any other man. The reason I can't tell you is that the purpose of a poem is to go past telling, to be recognised by burning.