Thus For Each Blunt-faced Ignorant One The

I Try Not To Observe Myself In The Process Of Composing A Poem Because I Don't Want To Come Up With A Formula, Which I Would Then Be Unscrupulous In Using.

As Humans We Look At Things And Think About What We've Looked At. We Treasure It In A Kind Of Private Art Gallery.

Direct Me Gods, Whose Changes Are All Holy, To Where It Flickers Deep In Grass, The Moly.

As If Hands Were Enough To Hold An Avalanche Off.

It Was Difficult Being A Teacher And Out Of The Closet In The '50s. By The Time I Retired, The English Department Was Proud Of Having A Gay Poet Of A Certain Minor Fame. It Was A Very Satisfactory Change!