On slang: “The test of a given phrase would be: Is it worthy to be immortal? . . . ‘I guess I’ll split’ is not going to be immortal and is excludable, therefore excluded.”

The king’s court, the killing floor.
The task I have is my undoing.

A half-theosophical, half-biological conceit:
The dentist calls, the radio goes on the blink.

Simplistic, domineering,
recapitulating, flesh
wants flesh to last.

Still not out of hope one day to
see her country … Close now,

Starved and then slaughtered, Virginia is
A spit of land that cowers before John

Could you not look after me another day?
Why did you go alone? I leave in only another day.

If your gravestone is not erased first my head will be.

And there you are, painted into the picture :
Bricklayers and courtiers are making their beds
In apartments on the margins behind you.