It was a calumny that the bottle structure he made was composed entirely of liquor bottles, and one he would resent forever.
But I thought Wouldn’t I be calmer, and wouldn’t I have less prefabricated imagery inundating me, and wouldn’t I have somewhat less constant hubbub going on behind the arrases lining my mind
You approached Tsau down a corridor of darling crepitation. I asked myself what the idea could possibly be.
April nights in the Kalahari are cold, but we were hot. I got up three times to renew my paean to heat, light, and destruction. I burned everything. Even as day fell I threw more into the display.
Finally one stanza out of Elizabeth Bishop got hold of me and kept inserting itself between pieces of other poems, truculently.
