I Carry Your Heart With Me(i Carry

Nothing Recedes Like Progress.

I Spill My Bright Incalculable Soul

My Mind Is A Big Hunk Of Irrevocable Nothing Which Touch And Taste And Smell And Hearing And Sight Keep Hitting And Chipping With Sharp Fatal Tools In An Agony Of Sensual Chisels I Perform Squirms Of Chrome And Ex -ecute Strides Of Cobalt Nevertheless I Feel That I Cleverly Am Being Altered That I Slightly Am Becoming Something A Little Different, In Fact Myself Hereupon Helpless I Utter Lilac Shrieks And Scarlet Bellowings

The Eyes Of My Eyes Are Opened.

If A Poet Is Anybody, He Is Somebody To Whom Things Made Matter Very Little - Somebody Who Is Obsessed By Making.