Deep into autumn
and this caterpillar
still not a butterfly

Ei slemt nedriiv I lærde Mænd,
Min lille nyelig bagte Bog.
Den er for jer som ingenting,
Thi naar I bare kunde see
Saa loe I til I sprak ihjel.

Lo, my book thinks to look Time's leaguer down,
Under the banner of your spread renown!
Or if these levies of impuissant rhyme
Fall to the overthrow of assaulting Time,
Yet this one page shall fend oblivious shame,
Armed with your crested and prevailing Name.

I grew
Taller than my father
And my mother won.

Deception, hypocracy, untruth,
I shunned and, to my mind,
I gave the same message,
In my lifetime, I found Him as
The only one, all-pervading God:
What's the source of food and feed?

And if I can't speak about my love-
if I don't talk about your hair, your lips, your eyes,
still your face that I keep within my heart,
the sound of your voice that I keep within my mind,
the days of September rising in my dreams,
give shape and colour to my words, my sentences,
whatever theme I touch, whatever thought I utter.

At 1:30 in the morning a fart
smells like a marriage between
an avocado and a fish head.

I have to get out of bed
to write this down without
my glasses on.

When you came, you were like red wine and honey,
And the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.
Now you are like morning bread,
Smooth and pleasant.
I hardly taste you at all for I know your savour,
But I am completely nourished.

I love those spirits
That men stand off and point at,
Or shudder and hood up their souls -
Those ruined ones,
Where Liberty has lodged an hour
And passed like flame,
Bursting asunder the too small house.

Death's a lion.
How can you escape him?
From a flock of sheep
It 'II pick you up like a lamb.