Here In The Hospital, I Say,that Is

Big Heart, Wide As A Watermelon, But Wise As Birth, There Is So Much Abundance In The People I Have.

The Future Is A Fog That Is Still Hanging Out Over The Sea, A Boat That Floats Home Or Does Not. The Trade Winds Blow Me, And I Do Not Know Where The Land Is; The Waves Fold Over Each Other; They Are In Love With Themselves; Sleeping In Their Own Skin; And I Float Over Them And I Do Not Know About Tomorrow.

[i] Have Fantasies Of Killing Myself And Thus Being The Powerful One Not The Powerless One.

Let The Light Be Called Day So That Men May Grow Corn Or Take Busses.

The Tongue, The Chinese Say, Is Like A Sharp Knife: It Kills Without Drawing Blood.