In The Evening Everything Has A Schedule,

The Evening Light Was Like Honey In The Trees When You Left Me And Walked To The End Of The Street Where The Sunset Abruptly Ended. The Wedding-cake Drawbridge Lowered Itself To The Fragile Forget-me-not Flower. You Climbed Aboard. Burnt Horizons Suddenly Paved With Golden Stones, Dreams I Had, Including Suicide, Puff Out The Hot-air Balloon Now. It Is Bursting, It Is About To Burst

There Is The View That Poetry Should Improve Your Life. I Think People Confuse It With The Salvation Army.

This Whole Moment Is The Groin Of A Borborygmic Giant Who Even Now Is Rolling Over On Us In His Sleep.

A Perfect Example Of The New Republic's Urge To Drape Itself With The Togas Of Classical Respectability.

Things Can Harden Meaningfully In The Moment Of Indecision