Subject Is Known By What She Sees.

Unholy Battered Old Thing You Were, My Sunflower O My Soul, I Loved You Then!

I Really Would Like To Stop Working Forever–never Work Again, Never Do Anything Like The Kind Of Work I’m Doing Now–and Do Nothing But Write Poetry And Have Leisure To Spend The Day Outdoors And Go To Museums And See Friends. And I’d Like To Keep Living With Someone — Maybe Even A Man — And Explore Relationships That Way. And Cultivate My Perceptions, Cultivate The Visionary Thing In Me. Just A Literary And Quiet City-hermit Existence.

Poetry Is The One Place Where People Can Speak Their Original Human Mind. It Is The Outlet For People To Say In Public What Is Known In Private.

The Closet Door Is Open For Me, Where I Left It, Since I Left It Open, It Has Graciously Stayed Open.

The Real America That Whitman Proclaimed And Thoreau Decoded.