And blue-lung'd combers lumbered to the kill..

We are all old-timers, each of us holds a locked razor..

I saw the spiders marching through the air, Swimming from tree to tree that mildewed day In latter August when the hay Came creaking to the barn. But….

I saw the spiders marching through the air, Swimming from tree to tree that mildewed day In latter August when the hay Came creaking to the barn..

Pity the planet, all joy gone from this sweet volcanic cone.

But sometimes everything I write with the threadbare art of my eye seems a snapshot.

I was overcome with an attack of pathological enthusiasm..

Their monument sticks like a fishbone in the city's throat..

I want to apologize for plaguing you with so many telephone calls last November and December. When the 'enthusiasm' is coming on me it is accompanied….

Middle Age At forty-five, What next, what next? At every corner, I meet my Father, My age, still alive..

Wallowing in this bloody sty, I cast for fish that pleased my eye.

In the end, there is no end..

If youth is a defect, it is one we outgrow too soon..

the scythers, Time and Death, Helmed locusts, move upon the tree of breath.

The world is absolutely out of control now and is not going to be saved by any reason or unreason..

Poetry is not the record of an event: it is an event..

I myself am hell; nobody's here.

History has to live with what was here, clutching and close to fumbling all we had - it is so dull and gruesome how we die, unlike writing, life neve….

I will catch Christ with a greased worm, And when the Prince of Darkness stalks My bloodstream to its Stygian term . . . On water the Man-Fisher walk….

Talking about the past is like a cat's trying to explain climbing down a ladder..

September twenty-second, Sir, the bough cracks with unpicked apples, and at dawn the small-mouth bass breaks water, gorged with spawn..