Decades go faster toward the end of a century.
The words! I collected them in all shapes and sizes and hung them like bangles in my mind.
Women can't travel light. We're in charge of the basic facts.
How clerks love refusing. It salves them for being clerks.
But memory, after a time, dispenses its own emphasis, making a feuilleton of what we once thought most ponderable, laying its wreath on what we never thought to recall.
I always say that one's poetry is a solace to oneself and a nuisance to one's friends.