Is It In These Bottomless Nights That

Is It In These Bottomless Nights That You Sleep In Exile?

It Is Wrong To Say: I Think. One Ought To Say: I Am Thought. I Is Someone Else.

. . . Be Absolute Moderne.

The Sun, The Hearth Of Affection And Life, Pours Burning Love On The Delighted Earth.

What Am I Doing Here?