Tall poplars--human beings of this earth!
Death is a master from Germany.
The language with which I make my poems has nothing to do with one spoken here, or anywhere.
Illegibility of this world. All things twice over. The strong clocks justify the splitting hour, hoarsely. You , clamped into your deepest part, climb out of yourself for ever.
Black milk of daybreak we drink it at sundown.
They've healed me to pieces.