It Is June. I Am Tired Of

The Sea Is Mother-death And She Is A Mighty Female, The One Who Wins, The One Who Sucks Us All Up.

But My Future Is A Secret. / It Is As Shy As A Mole.

Death's In The Good-bye.

God Went Out Of Me As If The Sea Dried Up Like Sandpaper, As If The Sun Became A Latrine.

I Like You; Your Eyes Are Full Of Language." [letter To Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.]