A True Opium Of The People Is

Leaves Glowing In The Sun, Zealous Hum Of Bumblebees, From Afar, From Somewhere Beyond The River, Echoes Of Lingering Voices And The Unhurried Sounds Of A Hammer Gave Joy Not Only To Me. Before The Five Senses Were Opened, And Earlier Than Any Beginning They Waited, Ready, For All Those Who Would Call Themselves Mortals, So That They Might Praise, As I Do, Life, That Is, Happiness.

Men Will Clutch At Illusions When They Have Nothing Else To Hold To.

I Liked Beaches, Swimming Pools, And Clinics For There They Were The Bone Of My Bone, Flesh Of My Flesh. I Pitied Them And Myself, But This Will Not Protect Me. The Word And The Thought Are Over.

Do You Know How It Is When One Wakes At Night Suddenly And Asks, Listening To The Pounding Heart: What More Do You Want, Insatiable?

I Have Defined Poetry As A 'passionate Pursuit Of The Real.