Human bodies are words, myriads of words, (In the best poems re-appears the body, man's or woman's, well-shaped, natural, gay, Every part able, active, receptive, without shame or the need of shame.)

I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end, But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

And as to me, I know nothing else but miracles

If any thing is sacred, the human body is sacred.

I think I could turn and live with the animals, they are so placid and self contained; I stand and look at them long and long. They do not sweat and whine about their condition; They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins; They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God; Not one is dissatisfied-not one is demented with the mania of owning things; Not one kneels to another, nor his kind that lived thousands of years ago; Not one is responsible or industrious over the whole earth.

My words itch at your ears till you understand them

I hate commas in the wrong places.