The American idiom has much to offer us that the English language has never heard of

My surface is myself. Under which to witness, youth is buried. Roots? Everybody has roots.

It is difficult to get the news from poetry, yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there.

When I am alone I am happy.

If it ain't a pleasure, it ain't a poem.

Poetry demands a different material than prose. It uses another facet of the same fact... the spontaneous conformation of language as it is heard.

Outside, the north wind, coming and passing, swelling and dying, lifts the frozen sand drives it a-rattle against the lidless windows and we may dear sit stroking the cat stroking the cat and smiling sleepily, prrrr.