I'm one of the cliches that has grown up.

The heroes of the present will retreat to the imitation they are anyhow.

I sound like Homer. I mean Winslow Homer.

Whatever you have to say, leave The roots on, let them Dangle And the dirt Just to make clear Where they come from.

I'm trying to climb up both walls at once.

Forgive me if I sleep until I wake up.

There are no hierarchies, no infinite, no such many as mass, there are only/ eyes in all heads,/ to be looked out of.