What Have I Done, Dear God, To

I Always Felt Mean, Jogging Back Over The Logging Road,as If I Had Broken The Natural Order Of Things In That Swampland;disturbed Some Rhythm, Old And Of Vast Importance,by Pulling Off Flesh From The Living Planet;as If I Had Committed, Against The Whole Scheme Of Life, A Desecration.

Love Begets Love. This Torment Is My Joy.

How Body From Spirit Slowly Does Unwind, Until We Are Pure Spirit At The End.

The Mind Enters Itself, And God The Mind, And One Is One, Free In The Tearing Wind.

Too Much Reality Can Be A Dazzle, A Surfeit;too Close Immediacy An Exhaustion