I Haven't Written Anything In

Much That Is Natural, To The Will Must Yield. Men Manufacture Both Machine And Soul, And Use What They Imperfectly Control To Dare A Future From The Taken Routes.

One Joins The Movement In A Valueless World, Choosing It, Till Both Hurler And The Hurled, One Moves As Well, Always Toward, Toward.

I Was Reading The Poems Of Rochester. Rochester Made Himself Out To Be Bisexual, But I Think That Was Only To Shock. Most Of His Poetry Is Sexual, Even Pornographic.

As If Hands Were Enough To Hold An Avalanche Off.

Direct Me Gods, Whose Changes Are All Holy, To Where It Flickers Deep In Grass, The Moly.