An American Is A Complex Of Occasions,

Fact Is Based Upon Vulgar Matter.

The Poem, For Me, Is Simply The First Sound Realized In The Modality Of Being.

The Heroes Of The Present Will Retreat To The Imitation They Are Anyhow.

Is It Not The Play Of The Mind We Are After? Is It Not That That Shows A Mind Is There At All?

Dead, Hung Up Indoors, The Kingfisher Will Not Indicate A Favoring Wind, Or Avert The Thunderbolt.