I Want To Do To You What

And I Watch My Words From A Long Way Off. They Are More Yours Than Mine. They Climb On My Old Suffering Like Ivy.

I Want To Eat The Sunbeam Flaring In Your Lovely Body... And I Pace Around Hungry, Sniffing The Twilight, Hunting For You, For Your Hot Heart, Like A Puma In The Barrens Of Quitratue.

And That's Why I Have To Go Back To So Many Places There To Find Myself And Constantly Examine Myself With No Witness But The Moon And Then Whistle With Joy, Ambling Over Rocks And Clods Of Earth, With No Task But To Live, With No Family But The Road.

The Best Poet Is The Man Who Delivers Our Daily Bread: The Local Baker.

A Book, A Book Full Of Human Touches, Of Shirts, A Book Without Loneliness, With Men And Tools, A Book Is Victory.