We Control The Content Of Our Dreams.

I Don't Know How To Sit Outside Myself And Test Against A Hypothetical Self Who Stayed Home.

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

How Sociable The Garden Was. We Ate And Talked In Given Light. The Children Put Their Toys To Grass All The Warm Wakeful August Night.

Much That Is Natural, To The Will Must Yield. Men Manufacture Both Machine And Soul, And Use What They Imperfectly Control To Dare A Future From The Taken Routes.

Deep Feeling Doesn't Make For Good Poetry. A Way With Language Would Be A Bit Of Help.