Literary Party: A Traffic Jam Of The

Where The Light Is, And Each Thing Clear,separate From All Others, Standing In Its Place,i Drink The Time And Touch Whatever's Near,and Hope For Day When The Whole World Has That Face:for What Assures Her Present Every Year?in Dark Accidents The Mind's Sufficient Grace.

I Got Married The Second Time In The Way That, When A Murder Is Committed, Crackpots Turn Up At The Police Station To Confess The Crime.

And Hence The Poet Must Seek To Be Essentially Anonymous, He Must Die A Little Death Each Morning, He Must Swallow His Toad And Study His Vomit As Baudelaire Studied La Charogne Of Jeanne Duval.

At The Moment I'm So Exhausted That I Feel Like Cutting My Throat, So The Next News Masy Well Be That I Am Across The River And Under The Trees: What Is The Meaning And Purpose Of Life? Death.

Time Is The School In Which We Learn, Time Is The Fire In Which We Burn.