Drum On Your Drums, Batter

Poetry Is The Establishment Of A Metaphorical Link Between White Butterfly-wings And The Scraps Of Torn-up Love-letters.

Always The Path Of American Destiny Has Been Into The Unknown. Always There Arose Enough Reserves Of Strength, Balances Of Sanity, Portions Of Wisdom To Carry The Nation Through To A Fresh Start With Ever-renewing Vitality.

Poetry Is A Puppet-show, Where Riders Of Skyrockets And Divers Of Sea Fathoms Gossip About The Sixth Sense And The Fourth Dimension.

Time Is A Great Teacher, Who Can Live Without Hope?

The Woman Named Tomorrow Sits With A Hairpin In Her Teeth And Takes Her Time