Kenneth Patchen Quotes (3 Quotes)

This room has mystery like a trance Of wine forget-me-nots of you Are chair and couch, the books your Fingers touched. And now that you Are absent here the silence scrapes A secret rust from everything While sudden wreaths of sorrow's Dust uncover emptiness like halls To stumble through, and terror falls.

There are so many little dyings that it doesn't matter which of them is death.

Now is then's only tomorrow.