Unless you love someone, nothing else makes any sense.

And the coolness of your smile is stirringofbirds between my arms

In just - Spring when the world is mud- luscious the little lame balloonman whistles far and wee

Knowledge is a polite word for dead but not buried imagination.

Nobody loses all the time.

who knows if the moon's a balloon,coming out of a keen city in the sky--filled with pretty people? ( and if you and I should get into it,if they should take me and take you into their balloon, why then we'd go up higher with all the pretty people than houses and steeples and clouds: go sailing away and away sailing into a keen city which nobody's ever visited,where always it's Spring)and everyone's in love and flowers pick themselves

Really unreal world, will you perhaps do the breathing for me while I am away?