Not Waving but Drowning Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor chap, he always loved larking And now he's dead It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way, They said. Oh, no no no, it was too cold always (Still the dead one lay moaning) I was much too far out all my life And not waving but drowning.

I may be smelly and I may be old, Rough in my pebbles, reedy in my pools, But where my fish float by I bless their swimming, And I like the people to bathe in me especially women.

The human creature is alone in his carapace. Poetry is a strong way out.

Oh Lion in a peculiar guise, Sharp Roman road to Paradise, Come eat me up, I'll pay thy toll With all my flesh, and keep my soul.

Youth is an arithmetical statement of passing interest, each hour eats it up.

You must have some money if you are going to live simply. It need not be much, but you must have some.

I'll have your heart, if not by gift my knife Shall carve it out. I'll have your heart, your life.