Oh Poets, why sing of roses! Let them
flower in your poems!
Listen!
In the beginning was the Word.
The world is holy! The soul is holy! The
typewriter is holy the poem is holy
the voice is holy!

Sing, O Orpheus! A tree grows in your
ear!
"Tree! You can be a canoe! Or else you
cannot!"
Here are swim-stick words you can use to
scare away sharks
The sound is spirited, green, and full of
silence
The colors ripen on the weightless branch
of time

A black, E white, I red, O blue, U green
A word sits on the kitchen counter
Let the house be dead silent
Today is the world-pregnant day
of judgment
Everything only connected by 'and'
and 'and.'

We are entitled to die the way we want
to die. Let the land hide in an ear
of wheat.
This poetry, I never know what I'm going
to say
It's the long story that never comes to
an end.
To write into emptiness
It has always been this way.

The slightest pain hurts me, the slightest
joy overwhelms
What you see here is colorful
illusion...corpse, dust, shadow, nothing.
Only the poet sells his soul to separate it
from the body that he loves
Farewell, thou art too dear for my
possessing.
The abyss doesn't divide us. The abyss
surrounds us.

In the middle years of the journey through
life
My task was to be a sower of eyes!
Grown old, do we hear silence splitting
open
Whistle at the other end and let me sing it
And I can also rightly be quiet.

The stones, the water, the sun speak
Of the stone I say, "It's a stone."
O Saints! Ye Divine Washermen!
Please listen as if I were a bubbling spring
If I had known it was a dream, I would
never have wakened

A terrible beauty is born.
The prison cells say nothing, like an
animal whose wound bleeds inward...
When even my grave I remembered
no more,
A brand from a brand is kindled and
burned, and fire from fire begotten
Night after night, I danced on dynamite

Every slam a finality
As for the hibiscus on the roadside -- my
horse ate it
Come, Hendecasyllables, one and all
Do not shatter my heart, learn to be still.
No one will write the final poem....what
worries me is the final dream

When I close the book, I open life
And to search for nothing, that was
my intent
O poets! poets male and female, listen to
the ruins!
Rinnzekete bee bee nnz krr mŸŸ?
What was was cool. What was it?

Now, today, I shall sing beautifully for my
friends' pleasure.