Old Age Is An Insult. It's Like

Sorrow Is Implicit In Love As Gravitation Is Implicit In Mass.

I Had Become, With The Approach Of Night, Once More Aware Of Loneliness And Time - Those Two Companions Without Whom No Journey Can Yield Us Anything.

Now Stiff On A Pillar With A Phallic Air Nelson Stylites In Trafalgar Square Reminds The British What Once They Were.

What Are Stars But Points In The Body Of God Where We Insert The Healing Needles Of Our Terror And Longing?

No History Much? Perhaps. Only This Ominous Dark Beauty Flowering Under Veils, Trapped In The Spectrum Of A Dying Style: A Village Like An Instinct Left To Rust, Composed Around The Echo Of A Pistol-shot.