to hell with literaturewe want something redblooded

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility:whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing (i do not...

I like your body. I like what it does. I like it’s hows.

Love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear; the strength so strong mere force is feebleness: the truth more first than sun, more last than star…

for whenever men are right they are not young

Take the matter of being born. What does being born mean to most people?

down with hell and heaven and all the religious fussinfinity pleased our parents one inch looks good to us

Only Something In Me Understands The Voice Of Your Eyes Is Deeper Than All Roses. Nobody, Not Even The Rain Has Such Small Hands.

since the thing perhaps isto eat flowers and not to be afraid

it’s springand the goat-footedballoonMan whistlesfarandwee

anyone lived in a pretty how town(with up so floating many bells down)spring summer autumn winterhe sang his didn’t he danced his didWomen and men(both little and small)cared for anyone not at allthey sowed their...

…remember one thing only: that it’s you-nobody else-who determines your destiny and decides your fate. Nobody else can be alive for you; nor can you be alive for anybody else.

Awake,chaos:we have napped.

for whatever we lose (like a you or a me)it’s always ourselves we find in the sea.

i thank You God for most this amazingday: for the leaping greenly spirits of treesand a blue true dream of sky; and for everythingwhich is natural which is infinite which is yes(i who have died...

when man determined to destroy himself he picked the was of shall and finding only why smashed it into because

You are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)

O gouvernment francais, I think it was not very clever of You to put this terrible doll in La Ferte; for when Governments are found dead there is always a little doll on top of...

I am an i poet.

here is little Effie’s headwhose brains are made of gingerbreadwhen the judgment day comesGod will find six crumbsstooping by the coffinlidwaiting for something to riseas the other somethings did–you imagine His surprisebellowing through the general...

sweet spring is yourtime is my time is ourtime for springtime is lovetimeand viva sweet love(all the merry little birds areflying in the floating in thevery spirits singing inare winging in the blossoming)lovers go and...

… (lady i willtouch you with my mind.) Touchyou, that is all/lightly and you utterly will becomewith infinite care/ the poem which i do not write.