Deep In Their Roots, All Flowers Keep

How Body From Spirit Slowly Does Unwind, Until We Are Pure Spirit At The End.

Too Much Reality Can Be A Dazzle, A Surfeit;too Close Immediacy An Exhaustion

How Terrible The Need For God.

The Damage Of Teaching: The Constant Contact With The Undeveloped.

I Can't Go On Flying Apart Just For Those Who Want The Benefit Of A Few Verbal Kicks. My God, Do You Know What Poems Like That Cost? They're Not Written Vicariously: They Come Out Of Actual Suffering, Real Madness.