See how free we are! as a nation of persons.

However, I have never clogged myself with the praises of pastoral life, nor with nostalgia for an innocent past of perverted acts in pastures. No. One need never leave the confines of New York to get all the greenery one wishes—I can’t even enjoy a blade of grass unless I know there’s a subway handy, or a record store or some other sign that people do not totally regret life. It is more important to affirm the least sincere; the clouds get enough attention as it is and even they continue to pass. Do they know what they’re missing? Uh huh.

The poem is at last between two persons instead of two pages. In all modesty, I confess that it may be the death of literature as we know it.

Destroy yourself, if you don't know!

I wouldn’t want to be faster or greener than now if you were with me O you were the best of all my days!

I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love.

I embraced a cloud but when I soared it rained.