only to studyjust the shine of your beautya divine glinta peal of glass thundermakes feeble my sightswarming knives of your beautyslice back ugly tendrils just to perceivea shadow of solar truth i know you are thereyour …

Yes. But first I want to express how these last three boxes are killing me. Receipts by year from the first heady summer days when our boys won the cup it just seemed like I couldn't lose any more. I was on a roll. I w…

The so-called poet with his vague dreams and ideals is indeed no better than a harmless lunatic; the true poet is the worker, who grips life's throat and wrings out its secret, who selects auterely and composes concisely…