There Is Always A Period

Stupidity Is Always Astounding, No Matter How Often One Encounters It.

The World Owes Its Enchantment To These Curious Creatures And Their Fancies; But Its Multiple Complicity Rejects Them. Thistledown Spirits, Tragic, Heartrending In Their Evanescence, They Must Go Blowing Headlong To Perdition.

The Poet Is At The Disposal Of The Night. His Role Is Humble, He Must Clean House And Await Its Due Visitation.

The Eyes Of The Dead Are Closed Gently; We Also Have To Open Gently The Eyes Of The Living.

Mirrors Would Do Well To Reflect A Little More Before Sending Back Images.