I Lost My Hat While Gazing At

Your Grief For What You've Lost Lifts A Mirror Up To Where You're Bravely Working.

Love Opens My Chest, And Thought Returns To Its Confines.

The Meaning Of Poetry Has No Sureness Of Direction; Is Like The Sling, It Is Not Under Control.

Do You Pay Regular Visits To Yourself? Don't Argue Or Answer Rationally. Let Us Die, And Dying, Reply.

The Desire To Know Your Own Soul Will End All Other Desires.