You Are Good For Nothing Unless You

There Were Several Ways Of Understanding Her: There Was What She Said, And There Was What She Meant, And There Was Something Between The Two, That Was Neither.

Happy You Poets Who Can Be Present And So Present By A Simple Flicker Of Your Genius, And Not, Like The Clumsier Race, Have To Laya Train And Pile Up Faggots That May Not After Prove In The Least Combustible!

To Read Between The Lines Was Easier Than To Follow The Text.

Everything About Florence Seems To Be Colored With A Mild Violet, Like Diluted Wine.

Keep Making The Movements Of Life.