Do you think of me
as often
as I think
of you?

The furies are at home
in the mirror; it is their address
Even the clearest water,
if deep enough can drown.
Never think to surprise them.

The sun has come.
The mist has gone.
We see in the distance...
our long way home.
I was always yours to have.

Candy
Is Dandy
But liquor
Is quicker.

To step over the low wall that div
Road from concrete walk above the
Brings sharply back something know
The miniature gaiety of seasides.
Everything crowds under the low ho

When I think about myself,
I almost laugh myself to death,
My life has been one great big jok
A dance that’s walked
A song that’s spoke,

I thought it would last my time—
The sense that, beyond the town,
There would always be fields and f
Where the village louts could clim
Such trees as were not cut down;

you won’t see them often
for wherever the crowd is
they
are not.
those odd ones, not

You have no enemies, you say?
Alas! my friend, the boast is poor
He who has mingled in the fray
Of duty, that the brave endure,
Must have made foes! If you have

There are similarities
I notice: that the hills
which the eyes make flat as a wall
together, open as I move
to let me through; become

When I am sad and weary
When I think all hope has gone
When I walk along High Holborn
I think of you with nothing on

The highway is full of big cars
going nowhere fast
And folks is smoking anything that
Some people wrap their lies around
And you sit wondering

Abstraction is an old story with t
Granted no one but a humanist much
Then there is this wildness whereo
It should be of the pleasure of a
No tears in the writer, no tears i

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.

My son, my executioner,
I take you in my arms,
Quiet and small and just astir
And whom my body warms.
Sweet death, small son, our instru

The pig, if I am not mistaken;
Supplies us sausage, ham, and baco
Let others say his heart is big—
I call it stupid of the pig.

Up, black, striped and demasked li
At a funeral mass, the skunk’s tai
Paraded the skunk. Night after ni
I expected her like a visitor.
The refrigerator whinnied into sil

The apes yawn and adore their flea
The parrots shriek as if they were
Like cheap tarts to attract the st
Fatigued with indolence, tiger and
Lie still as the sun. The boa-con

Go to Tibet.
Ride a camel.
Read the Bible.
Dye your shoes blue.
Grow a Beard.

Understand, I am always trying to
what the soul is,
and where hidden,
and what shape
and so, last week,

Beloveds, now we know that we know
Without notice, our dear love can
In the instant that Michael is go
Though we are many, each of us is
Only when we confess our confusion

Many authorities on bird life had
It was a remarkably fine phoenix,
It costs a great deal of money to
For quite a while Mr. Poldero con
But then business slackened. The

Make no mistake: if He rose at al
it was as His body;
if the cells’ dissolution did not
reknit, the amino acids rekindle,
the Church will fall.

He is here, come down to look for
It is the song that calls you back
a song of joy and suffering
equally: a promise:
that things will be different up t

Last night
in the fields
I lay down in the darkness
to think about death,
but instead I fell asleep,

A flea and a fly in a flue
Were imprisoned, so what could the
Said the fly, “let us flee!”
“Let us fly!” said the flea.
So they flew through a flaw in the

Tightly-folded bud,
I have wished you something
None of the others would:
Not the usual stuff
About being beautiful,

Don’t call this world adorable, or
It’s frisky, and a theater for mor
The eyelash of lightning is neithe
The struck tree burns like a pilla
But the blue rain sinks, straight

A million million spermatozoa
All of them alive;
Out of their cataclysm but one poo
Dare hope to survive.
And among that billion minus one

My man is Black Golden Amber Cha
Warm mouths of Brandy Fine
Cautious sunlight on a patterned r
Coughing laughter, rocked on a whi
Graceful turns on woolen stilts S

I’d seen
their hoofprints in the deep
needles and knew
they ended the long night
under the pines, walking

Why should I let the toad work
Squat on my life?
Can’t I use my wit as a pitchfork
And drive the brute off?
Six days of the week it soils

I was a bum in San Francisco but
to go to a symphony concert along
and the music was good but somethi
audience was not
and something about the orchestra

Look, stranger, on this island now
The leaping light for your delight
Stand stable here
And silent be,
That through the channels of the e

On the grass when I arrive,
Filling the stillness with life,
But ready to scare off
At the very first wrong move.
In the ivy when I leave.

When over the flowery, sharp pastu
edge, unseen, the salt ocean
lifts its form—chicory and daisies
tied, released, seem hardly flower
but color and the movement—or the