I Spill My Bright Incalculable Soul

It Is With Roses And Locomotives (not To Mention Acrobats Spring Electricity Coney Island The 4th Of July The Eyes Of Mice And Niagara Falls) That My Poems Are Competing.

The Moon Rattles Like A Fragment Of Angry Candy

A Man Who Had Fallen Among Thieves Lay By The Roadside On His Back Dressed In Fifteenthrate Ideas Wearing A Round Jeer For A Hat

To Like An Individual Because He's Black Is Just As Insulting As To Dislike Him Because He Isn't White.

Unbeing Dead Isn't Being Alive.