The First Step... Shall Be To Lose

Little Sleep's-head Sprouting Hair In The Moonlight, When I Come Back We Will Go Out Together, We Will Walk Out Together Among, The Ten Thousand Things, Each Scratched Too Late With Such Knowledge, The Wages Of Dying Is Love.

To Me, Poetry Is Somebody Standing Up, So To Speak, And Saying, With As Little Concealment As Possible, What It Is For Him Or Her To Be On Earth At This Moment

The Bud Stands For All Things, Even For Those Things That Don't Flower

Thats The Way It Is With Poetry: When It Is Incomprehensible It Seems Profound, And When You Understand It, It Is Only Ridiculous.

Sometimes It Is Necessary To Reteach A Thing Its Loveliness