I Remember In My Early

Under The Harvest Moon, When The Soft Silver Drips Shimmering Over The Garden Nights, Death, The Gray Mocker, Comes And Whispers To You As A Beautiful Friend Who Remembers.

Time Is A Sandpile We Run Our Fingers In.

What Else Have I Done Nearly All My Life Than Go Hungry And Go On Singing?

Poetry Is A Type-font Design For An Alphabet Of Fun, Hate, Love, Death.

I Had Taken A Course In Ethics. I Read A Thick Textbook, Heard The Class Discussions And Came Out Of It Saying I Hadn't Learned A Thing I Didn't Know Before About Morals And What Is Right Or Wrong In Human Conduct.