The Two Elements The Traveler First Captures

I Want To Be A Poet, From Head To Toe, Living And Dying By Poetry.

Hour Of Stars (1920) The Round Silence Of Night, One Note On The Stave Of The Infinite. Ripe With Lost Poems, I Step Naked Into The Street. The Blackness Riddled By The Singing Of Crickets: Sound, That Dead Will-o'-the-wisp, That Musical Light Perceived By The Spirit. A Thousand Butterfly Skeletons Sleep Within My Walls. A Wild Crowd Of Young Breezes Over The River.

I Will Always Be On The Side Of Those Who Have Nothing And Who Are Not Even Allowed To Enjoy The Nothing They Have In Peace.

The Wounds Were Burning Like Suns At Five In The Afternoon, And The Crowd Broke The Windows At Five In The Afternoon. Ah, That Fatal Five In The Afternoon! It Was Five By All The Clocks! It Was Five In The Shade Of The Afternoon!

Not For A Moment, Beautiful Aged Walt Whitman, Have I Failed To See Your Beard Full Of Butterflies.