In The Room The Women

Time Past And Time Future What Might Have Been And What Has Been Point To One End, Which Is Always Present.

Of Lovers Whose Bodies Smell Of Each Other Who Think The Same Thoughts Without Need Of Speech

There Are Flood And Drought Over The Eyes And In The Mouth, Dead Water And Dead Sand Contending For The Upper Hand. The Parched Eviscerate Soil Gapes At The Vanity Of Toil, Laughs Without Mirth. This Is The Death Of The Earth.

Genuine Poetry Can Communicate Before It Is Understood.

In The Life Of One Man, Never The Same Time Returns.