She Was Like Marat Only

The Breaking Of A Wave Cannot Explain The Whole Sea.

Poetry Involves The Mysteries Of The Irrational Perceived Through Rational Words.

And Presently I Was Driving Through The Drizzle Of The Dying Day, With The Windshield Wipers In Full Action But Unable To Cope With My Tears.

A Wise Reader Reads The Book Of Genius Not With His Heart, Not So Much With His Brain, But With His Spine. It Is There That Occurs The Telltale Tingle.

I Think She Always Nursed A Small Mad Hope.