Unholy battered old thing you were, my sunflower O my soul, I loved you then!

I learned a world from each / one whom I loved

First thought, best thought.

I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?

A naked lunch is natural to us We eat reality sandwiches. But allegories are so much lettuce. Don't hide the madness.

So the problem for the poetic artist or the photographer is the common problem of continuous attentiveness, continuous attempts to notice what he is noticing, continuous alertness to catch himself thinking or seeing, devotional attentiveness to the world he's moving through.

None of us understand what we're doing, but we do beautiful things anyway.