With A Sudden Sharp Hot Stink Of

I Sit In The Top Of The Wood, My Eyes Closed. Inaction, No Falsifying Dream Between My Hooked Head And Hooked Feet: Or In Sleep Rehearse Perfect Kills And Eat.

The Progress Of Any Writer Is Marked By Those Moments When He Manages To Outwit His Own Inner Police System.

Stilled Legendary Depth: It Was As Deep As England. It Held Pike Too Immense To Stir, So Immense And Old That Past Nightfall I Dared Not Cast.

The Sea Cries With Its Meaningless Voice, Treating Alike Its Dead And Its Living

I Shall Also Take You Forth And Carve Our Names Together In A Yew Tree, Haloed With Stars.