You are the beautiful halfof a golden hurt.

Her creamy child kissed by the black maid! square on the mouth! World yelled, world writhed, world turned to light and rolled Into her kitchen, nearly knocked her down.

What mannerisms I present, employ, Are camouflage, and what my mouths remarkTo word-wall off that broadness of the dark Is pitiful, I am not brave at all.

To say yes is to die A lot or a little.

Everybody here is infirm. Everybody here is infirm.

We are things of dry hours and the involuntary plan,Grayed in, and gray.

I hold my honey and I store my bread In little jars and cabinets of my will. I label clearly, and each latch and lid I bid, Be firm till I return from hell. I am very hungry. I am incomplete. And none can tell when I may dine again.

I tell poets that when a line just floats into your head, don't pay attention 'cause it probably has floated into somebody else's head.