One Of My Secret Instructions To Myself

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

Daylight Is Nobody's Friend. God Comes In Like A Landlord And Flashes On His Brassy Lamp.

Nature Is Full Of Teeth That Come In One By One, Then Decay, Fall Out.

Poems Aren't Postcards To Send Home.

So I Won't Hang Around In My Hospital Shift, Repeating The Black Mass And All Of It. I Say Live, Live Because Of The Sun, The Dream, The Excitable Gift.