It is not what you say that matters but the manner in which you say it; there lies the secret of the ages.

This is where the difficulty lies. We are lucky when that underground current can be tapped and the secret spring of all our lives will send up its pure water. It seldom happens. A thousand trivialities push themselves to the front, our lying habits of everyday speech and thought are foremost, telling us that that is what "they" want to hear. Tell them something else.

I will teach you my townspeoplehow to perform a funeralfor you have it over a troopof artists--unless one should scour the world--you have the ground sense necessary.

The poem, to me (until I go broke) is an attempt, an experiment, a failing experiment, toward assertion with broken means but an assertion, always, of a new and total culture, the lifting of an environment to expression. Thus it is social, the poem is a social instrument.

My surface is myself.
Under which
to witness, youth is
buried. Roots?
Everybody has roots.

I am lonely, lonely.I was born to be lonely,I am best so!