And still the mad magnificent herald Spring assembles beauty from forgetfulness with the wild trump of April:witchery of sound and odour drives the wingless thing man forth in the bright air.

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

the moon rattles like a fragment of angry candy

Your head is a living forest full of songbirds.

-tomorrow is our permanent address and there they’ll scarcely find us(if they do, we’ll move away still further:into now

The hardest fight a man has to fight is to live in a world where every single day someone is trying to make you someone you do not want to be--

God's terrible face brighter than a spoon collects the image of one fatal word;so that my life(which liked the sun and the moon)resembles something that has not occurred:i am a birdcage without any bird a collar looking for a dog a kisswithout lips;a prayer lacking any kneesbut something beats within my shirt to provehe is undead who living noone is.I have never loved you dear as now i love.