No Poetic Phantasy But A

Our Minds Can Go No Further. The Human Imagination Is Capable Of No Further Expression Of Beauty Than The Carved Owl Of Athene, The Archaic, Marble Serpent, The Arrogant Selfish Head Of The Acropolis Apollo.

Ardent Yet Chill And Formal, How I Ache To Tempt A Chisel As A Sculptor.

I Myself Have Seen The Floating Ships And Nothing Will Ever Be The Same The Shouts, The Harrowing Voices Within The House. I Stand Apart With An Army: My Mind Is Graven With Ships.

Dead Men Would Start And Move Toward Me To Learn Of Love.

The Christos-image Is Most Difficult To Disentangle From Its Art-craft Junk-shop Paint-and-plaster Medieval Jumble Of Pain-worship And Death-symbol.