Things Are Symbols Of Themselves.

I Am Learning By The Week, But My Poesy Is Still Not My Own. New Rhyme, New Me Me Me In Words. I Am Not All This Carven Rhetoric.

The Jews Always Complained, Kvetching About False Gods, And Erected The Biggest False God, Jehovah, In Middle Of Western Civilization.

I Never Dreamed The Sea So Deep, The Earth So Dark; So Long My Sleep, I Have Become Another Child. I Wake To See The World Go Wild.

I Really Would Like To Stop Working Forever–never Work Again, Never Do Anything Like The Kind Of Work I’m Doing Now–and Do Nothing But Write Poetry And Have Leisure To Spend The Day Outdoors And Go To Museums And See Friends. And I’d Like To Keep Living With Someone — Maybe Even A Man — And Explore Relationships That Way. And Cultivate My Perceptions, Cultivate The Visionary Thing In Me. Just A Literary And Quiet City-hermit Existence.

First Thought, Best Thought.