Emotions and Feelings

And honored among foxes and pheasants by the gay house Under the new-made clouds and happy as the heart was long, I ran my heedless ways.

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green.

After the first death there is no other.

They dance between their arclamps and our skull, Impose their shots, throwing the nights away. We watch the show of shadows kiss or kill, Flavoured of celluloid give love the lie.

My steps along this street Resound in another street In which I hear my steps Passing along this street In which Only the mist is real.

When will indifference come.

I haven’t lost a battle yet but I am tense for the first losing.

I haven’t lost a battle yet but I am tense for the first losing.

Offering dragons quarter is no good, they regrow all their parts & come on again, they have to be killed.

The world is gradually becoming a place where I do not care to be any more.

He stared at ruin. Ruin stared straight back. He thought they were old friends.

I myself walked at the funeral of tenderness.

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.

I don’t see how Henry, pried open for all the world to see, survived.

Huffy Henry hid the day, Unappeasable Henry sulked.

Mountainous, woman not breaks and will bend: sways God nearby: anguish comes to an end. Blossomed Sarah, and I blossom. Is that thing alive? I hear a famisht howl.

Mountainous, woman not breaks and will bend: sways God nearby: anguish comes to an end. Blossomed Sarah, and I blossom. Is that thing alive? I hear a famisht howl.

One day beside some flowers near his nose He will be thinking, When will I look at it? And pain, still in the middle distance, will reply At what? and he will know it’s gone, O where! and begin to tremble and cry. He will begin to cry as a child cries Whose puppy is mangled under a screaming wheel.

my negritude riddles with holes the dense affliction of its worthy patience.

Time is the school in which we learn, Time is the fire in which we burn.

Color of cinnamon Clove’s sweet smell, I’ve come a long way To see Gabrielle.

Oh lonesome’s a bad place To get crowded into.

Oh lonesome’s a bad place To get crowded into.

I am the magical mouse I don’t eat cheese I eat sunsets And the tops of trees.