Let us honor if we can the vertical man, though we value none but the horizontal one
Look if you like, but you will have to leap.
The glacier knocks in the cupboard, The desert sighs in the bed, And the crack in the teacup opens A lane to the land of the dead.
Adjectives are the potbelly of poetry.
What the poet says has never been said before, but, once he has said it, his readers recognize its validity for themselves.
Nobody knows what the cause is, though some pretend they do; it like some hidden assassin waiting to strike at you. Childless women get it, and men when they retire; it as if there had to be some outlet for their foiled creative fire.