since feelings come first, who cares about the syntax of things?
If at the end of your first ten or fifteen years of fighting and working and feeling, you find you've written one line of one poem, you'll be very lucky indeed.
Nothing recedes like progress.
Next to of course god America i / love you land of the pilgrims and so forth oh
All ignorance toboggans into know and trudges up to ignorance again.
The Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls are unbeautiful and have comfortable minds.