Perhaps Poetry Will Be The

Little Sleep's-head Sprouting Hair In The Moonlight, When I Come Back We Will Go Out Together, We Will Walk Out Together Among, The Ten Thousand Things, Each Scratched Too Late With Such Knowledge, The Wages Of Dying Is Love.

There Are Two Versions To Every Poem – The Crying Version And The Straight Version

I Start Off But I Don't Know Where I'm Going; I Try This Avenue And That Avenue, That Turns Out To Be A Dead End, This Is A Dead End, And So On. The Search Takes A Long Time And I Have To Back-track Often.

Prose Is Walking; Poetry Is Flying

I Will Find That Special Person Who Is Wrong For Me In Just The Right Way.