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.

I embraced a cloud but when I soared it rained.

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.

You just go on your nerve.

Oh! kangaroos, sequins, chocolate sodas! / You really are beautiful! Pearls, / harmonicas, jujubes, aspirins!

Even trees understand me! Good heavens, I lie under them, too, don't I? I'm just like a pile of leaves.

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's more important to confirm the least sincere. The clouds get enough attention as it is.