I Glory In This World

Pile The Bodies High At Austerlitz And Waterloo. Shovel Them Under And Let Me Work- I Am The Grass; I Cover All. And Pile Them High At Gettysburg. And Pile Them High At Ypres And Verdun. Shovel Them Under And Let Me Work. Two Years, Ten Years,and Passengers Ask The Conductor- What Place Is This? Where Are We Now? I Am The Grass. Let Me Work.

Poetry Is A Puppet-show, Where Riders Of Skyrockets And Divers Of Sea Fathoms Gossip About The Sixth Sense And The Fourth Dimension.

I Have Become Infected, Now That I See How Beautifully A Book Is Coming Out Of All This.

Poetry Is A Projection Across Silence Of Cadences Arranged To Break That Silence With Definite Intentions Of Echoes, Syllables, Wave Lengths.

The Greatest Cunning Is To Have None At All.