Permit Me Voyage, Love, Into Your Hands.

One Must Be Drenched In Words, Literally Soaked In Them.

Permit Me Voyage, Love, Into Your Hands.

Goodbye, Everybody! (suicide Note)

The Form Of My Poem Rises Out Of A Past That So Overwhelms The Present With Its Worth And Vision That I'm At A Loss To Explain My Delusion That There Exist Any Real Links Between That Past And A Future Worthy Of It.

It Has Taken A Great Deal Of Energy, Which Has Not Been So Difficult To Summon As The Necessary Patience To Wait, Simply Wait Much Of The Time - Until My Instincts Assured Me That I Had Assembled My Materials In Proper Order For A Final Welding Into Their Natural Form.