Even Amidst Fierce Flames The

I Am Myself. That Is Not Enough.

England Offers New Comforts. I Could Write A Novel There.

I've Got To Have Something. I Want To Stop It All, The Whole Monumental Grotesque Joke, Before It's Too Late. But Writing Poems And Letters Doesn't Seem To Do Much Good.

Why Can’t I Try On Different Lives, Like Dresses, To See Which Fits Best And Is More Becoming?

I Could Feel The Winter Shaking My Bones And Banging My Teeth Together.