I Have This Fantasy. I'm Walking Past

Sleep Is Uncanny, I Have Always Found It So, A Nightly Dress-rehearsal For Being Dead.

Dogs Are Dim Creatures, Do Not Speak To Me Of Their Good Sense--have You Ever Heard Of A Team Of Tomcats Hauling A Sled Across The Frozen Wastes?

The Booker Prize Is A Big, Popular Prize For Big, Popular Books, And That's The Way It Should Be.

Enormous Morning, Ponderous, Meticulous; Gray Light Streaking Each Bare Branch, Each Single Twig, Along One Side, Making Another Tree, Of Glassy Veins.

You Will Remember This When All Else Fades, This Moment, Here, Together, By This Well. There Will Be Certain Days, And Certain Nights, You’ll Feel My Presence Near You, Hear My Voice. You’ll Think You Have Imagined It And Yet, Inside You, You Will Catch An Answering Cry. On April Evenings, When The Rain Has Ceased, Your Heart Will Shake, You’ll Weep For Nothing, Pine For What’s Not There. For You, This Life Will Never Be Enough, There Will Forever Be An Emptiness, Where Once The God Was All In All In You.