Thom Gunn

"These seem like bristles, and the hide is tough. No claw or web here: each foot ends in hoof."

"Direct me gods, whose changes are all holy, To where it flickers deep in grass, the moly."

"Thus for each blunt-faced ignorant one The great grey rigid uniform combined Safety with virtue of the sun. Thus concepts linked like chainmail in the mind."

"One joins the movement in a valueless world, Choosing it, till both hurler and the hurled, One moves as well, always toward, toward."

"Distorting hackneyed words in hackneyed songs He turns revolt into a style, prolongs The impulse to a habit of the time."

"My thoughts are crowded with death and it draws so oddly on the sexual that I am confused confused to be attracted by, in effect, my own annihilation."