What Destruction Have I Been Blessed By?

The White Sun Like A Moth On A String Circles The Southpole.

In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines

A Poem Generated By Its Own Laws May Be Unrealized And Bad In Terms Of So-called Objective Principles Of Taste, Judgement, Deduction.

I Can't Tell You Where A Poem Comes From, What It Is, Or What It Is For: Nor Can Any Other Man. The Reason I Can't Tell You Is That The Purpose Of A Poem Is To Go Past Telling, To Be Recognised By Burning.

Things Go Away To Return, Brightened For The Passage