I’m relieved "Pilgrimage at East Sands" was published. It endured a remarkable amount of abuses, experimented on once, twice, three times. & then again, again, again, & again. I received a staggering amount of rejections for this one. It’s not a very beautiful poem, but isn't ugly either. Sardonic is the word. Paranoic, maybe. It was written out of anticipation of some unrealized (but inevitable) terrors.