A Little Too Abstract, A Little Too

Well: The Day Is A Poem But Too Much Like One Of Jeffers's, Crusted With Blood And Barbaric Omens Painful To Excess, Inhuman As A Hawk's Cry.

The Tides Are In Our Veins, We Still Mirror The Stars, Life Is Your Child, But There Is In Me Older And Harder Than Life And More Impartial, The Eye That Watched Before There Was An Ocean.

Only The Drum Is Confident, It Thinks The World Has Not Changed

Know That However Ugly The Parts Appear The Whole Remains Beautiful.

God Is A Lion That Comes In The Night. God Is A Hawk Gliding Among The Stars-- If All The Stars And The Earth, And The Living Flesh Of The Night That Flows In Between Them, And Whatever Is Beyond Them Were That One Bird. He Has A Bloody Beak And Harsh Talons, He Pounces And Tears.