Each Servant Stamps The Reader With A

Life Is Beautiful. He Who Reads That As In The Window Of Some Distant, Speeding Train Knows What He Wants, And What Will Befall.

Will Occur As Time Grows More Open About It.

A Perfect Example Of The New Republic's Urge To Drape Itself With The Togas Of Classical Respectability.

One Can Lose A Good Idea By Not Writing It Down, Yet By Losing It One Can Have It: It Nourishes Other Asides It Knows Nothing Of, Would Not Recognize Itself In, Yet When The Negotiations Are Terminated, Speaks In The Acts Of That Progenitor, And Does Recognize Itself, Is Grateful For Not Having Done So Earlier.

Poetry Comes To Me Out Of Thin Air Or Out Of My Unconscious Mind. It's Sort Of The Way Dreams Come To Us And The Way That We Get Knowledge From Them, Through Television, Old Movies, Which I Watch A Lot Of. Lines Of Dialogue Suddenly Seem To Be Part Of A Poem.