The Heroes Of The Present Will Retreat

One Perception Must Immediately And Directly Lead To A Further Perception

The Poem, For Me, Is Simply The First Sound Realized In The Modality Of Being.

What Pudor Pejorocracy Affronts How Awe, Night-rest And Neighborhood Can Rot What Breeds Where Dirtiness Is Law What Crawls Below

Is It Not The Play Of The Mind We Are After? Is It Not That That Shows A Mind Is There At All?

The Body Whips The Soul. In Its Great Desire It Demands The Elixir In The Roar Of Spring, Transmutations.