Le désir d’agir chante son pareil quand les choses Se lient, équi­va­lentes ; et le temps de tra­vail figé Mesure la valeur d’usage ; tra­vail abs­trait où le pro­duit Ne se com­pare au maté­riau, où les nuances confon­dues Cachent aux yeux de tous leur usage pre­mier. Et si les choses étaient des mots, elles diraient : Le Jour est Pareil à la Nuit, pareil à nous, mais selon nos bons maîtres Dans l’échange figure à peine l’usage des choses, Tout s’achète pour être ven­du et la valeur dis­pose. C’est à bon droit que nous fuyons qui nous a faites Quand on s’empresse de nous tenir…

Or : remem­ber, G. S. begins « Making of Americans » With a quote From Nicomachus” father – With patient father and angry son – That she said, « How can you know More than you do know And we are still in the sha­dow of expla­na­tion, » Add to her insight (« in all per­iods before Things had been said But never explai­ned. So then they began to explain ») Long before « before » Too, they had explai­ned a long time.…

As Baruch said accur­sed, never­mind blest – Since men would rather ima­gine than unders­tand And chance is imper­fect know­ledge And body exists as we feel it And essence is that remove, that degree, without which a thing is no thing (Defined is defi­ned) And nothing hap­pens in the body That is not per­cei­ved by the mind The mind also conceives by its power – A contents that is as in the song « sweet content. » Since no one cares about any­thing he does not love And love is plea­sure that dwells on its cause He who loves keeps what he loves : An image inwrea­thed with many things That may flou­rish, that draws cause…

In my city one wished me death, Nevermind, The stars last more than one night – The hid­den so dis­poses ima­gi­na­tion, And so the body to take on a nature Opposed it seems to itself, of which no idea Can be given the mind, but that a man Out of need of his nature should try not to exist Or appear chan­ged Is as impos­sible As for any thing to be made out of nothing, This eve­ryone with a lit­tle reflec­tion May see : Anyone can kill him­self, com­pel­led by some other Who twists his right hand Which holds per­haps a sword So it is led against his own heart, Or…