The landscape should belong to the people who see it all the time.
Poetry is music, and nothing but music. Words with musical emphasis.
When I die, the consciousness I carry I will to black people. May they pick me apart and take the useful parts, the sweet meat of my feelings. And leave the bitter bullshit rotten white parts alone.
Hope is delicate suffering.
Who has ever stopped to think of the divinity of Lamont Cranston?
An evil word it is/ This Love.