Even Amidst Fierce Flames The Golden Lotus

To The Person In The Bell Jar, Blank And Stopped As A Dead Baby, The World Itself Is A Bad Dream.

The Day I Went Into Physics Class It Was Death.

What I Want Back Is What I Was Before The Bed, Before The Knife, Before The Brooch-pin And The Salve Fixed Me In This Parenthesis; Horses Fluent In The Wind, A Place, A Time Gone Out Of Mind.

England Offers New Comforts. I Could Write A Novel There.

You Are The One. Solid The Spaces Lean On, Envious. You Are The Baby In The Barn.