I'm Afraid To Be On This Shore

The Groom Is Like A Flower Of Gold. When He Walks, Blossoms At His Feet Unfold.

There's No Doubt That I Really Have A Feeling For The Theater. These Past Few Days It Has Occurred To Me To Do A Comedy Whose Chief Characters Are Photographic Enlargements. Those People We See In Doorways. Newlyweds, Sergeants, Dead Girls, An Anonymous Crowd Full Of Mustaches And Wrinkles. It Should Be Terrible. If I Focus It Well, It Will Possess Pathos Without Consolation. In The Midst Of Those People I Will Place An Authentic Fairy.

Relish The Fresh Landscape Of My Wound, Break Rushes And Delicate Rivulets, Drink Blood Poured On Honeyed Thigh.

Not For A Moment, Beautiful Aged Walt Whitman, Have I Failed To See Your Beard Full Of Butterflies.

Today In My Heart A Vague Trembling Of Stars And All Roses Are As White As My Pain.