Calling It Off Comes Easy Enough If

Poetry Is A Kinetic Arrangement Of Static Syllables.

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.

I've Written Some Poetry I Don't Understand Myself.

There Are Dreams Stronger Than Death. Men And Women Die Holding These Dreams.

Didn't You Tie The Mittens On Her Feet (wednesday Evening's) Extra Special Nice? Yes--she Is An Extra Special Nice Pigeon. She Cries For Pity When She Wants Pity. And She Shuts Her Eyes When She Doesn't Want To Look At You. And If You Look Deep In Her Eyes When Her Eyes Are Open You Will See Lights There Exactly Like The Lights On The Pastures And The Meadows When The Mist Is Drifting On A Wednesday Evening Just Between The Twilight And Gloaming.