Don't be too harsh to these poems until they're typed. I always think typescript lends some sort of certainty: at least, if the things are bad then, they appear to be bad with conviction.

To begin, at the beginning.

Youth calls to age across the tired years: 'What have you found,' he cries, 'what have you sought?" 'What have you found,' age answers through his tears, 'What have you sought.

My birthday began with the water - Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name.

[I'm]a freak user of words, not a poet.

I do not need any friends. I prefer enemies. They are better company and their feelings towards you are always genuine.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.