If I Added To Their Pride Of

When I Was Writing Pretty Poor Poetry, This Girl With Midnight Black Hair Told Me To Go On.

Beware Of Advice-even This.

There Will Be A Rusty Gun On The Wall, Sweetheart, The Rifle Grooves Curling With Flakes Of Rust. A Spider Will Make A Silver String Nest In The Darkest, Warmest Corner Of It.

I Was Up Day And Night With Lincoln For Years. I Couldn't Have Picked A Better Companion.

Time Is A Sandpile We Run Our Fingers In.