And I Rejoiced In Being What I

What's Important? That Which Is Dug Out Of Books, Or Out Of The Guts?

And What A Congress Of Stinks!- Roots Ripe As Old Bait, Pulpy Stems, Rank, Silo-rich, Leaf Mold, Manure, Lime, Piled Against Slippery Planks, Nothing Would Give Up Life: Even The Dirt Kept Breathing A Small Breath.

In The Kingdom Of Bang And Blab.

The Visible Exhausts Me. I Am Dissolved In Shadow.

What Have I Done, Dear God, To Deserve This Perpetual Feeling That I'm Almost Ready To Begin Something Really New?