After The Sunset On The Prairie, There

Shame Is The Feeling You Have When You Agree With The Woman Who Loves You That You Are The Man She Thinks You Are.

Poetry Is The Arithmetic Of The Easiest Way And The Primrose Path, Matched Up With Foam-flanked Horses, Bloody Knuckles, And Bones, On The Hard Ways To The Stars.

I Tell You The Past Is A Bucket Of Ashes, So Live Not In Your Yesterdays, No Just For Tomorrow, But In The Here And Now. Keep Moving And Forget The Post Mortems; And Remember, No One Can Get The Jump On The Future.

Pile The Bodies High At Austerlitz And Waterloo. Shovel Them Under And Let Me Work. I Am The Grass. I Cover All.

A Book Is Never A Masterpiece: It Becomes One. Genius Is The Talent Of A Dead Man.