And death shall have no dominion. under the windings of the sea they lying long shall not die windily; twisting on racks when sinews give way, strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break; faith in their hands shall snap in two, and the unicorn evils run them through; split all ends up they shan't crack; and death shall have no dominion.
Especially when the october wind with frosty fingers punishes my hair, caught by the crabbing sun i walk on fire and cast a shadow crab upon the land, by the sea's side, hearing the noise of birds, hearing the raven cough in winter sticks, my busy heart who shudders as she talks sheds the syllabic blood and drains her words.
What i like to do is treat words as a craftsman does his wood or stone or what-have-you, to hew, carve, mold, coil, polish, and plane them into patterns, sequences, sculptures, fugues of sound expressing some lyrical impulse, some spiritual doubt or conviction, some dimly realized truth i must try to reach and realize.
You wouldn't think such a place as san francisco could exist. the wonderful sunlight there, the hills, the great bridges, the pacific at your shoes. beautiful chinatown. every race in the world. the sardine fleets sailing out. the little cable-cars whizzing down the city hills. and all the people are open and friendly.
I know we're not saints or virgins or lunatics; we know all the lust and lavatory jokes, and most of the dirty people; we can catch buses and count our change and cross the roads and talk real sentences. but our innocence goes awfully deep, and our discreditable secret is that we don't know anything at all, and our horrid inner secret is that we don't care that we don't.