Like Love We Don't Know Where Or

A Culture Is No Better Than Its Woods

Cathedrals, Luxury Liners Laden With Souls, Holding To The East Their Hulls Of Stone.

There Has Been A Vast Output Of Critical Studies In Contemporary Poetry, Some Of Them First Rate, But I Do Not Think That , As A Rule, A Poet Should Read Them.

Intellectual Disgrace Stares From Every Human Face, And The Seas Of Pity Lie Locked And Frozen In Each Eye.

Men Will Pay Large Sums To Whores For Telling Them They Are Not Bores.