It Is The Stillest Words That Bring

In Those Days It Was Possible For A Greek To Flee From An Over-abundant Reality As Though It Were But The Tricky Scheming Off The Imagination-and To Flee, Not Like Plato Into The Land Of Eternal Ideas, Into The Workshop Off The World-creator, Feasting One's Eyes On The Unblemished Unbreakable Archetypes, But Into The Rigor Mortis Off The Coldest Emptiest Concept Off All, The Concept Of Being.

Sleep Is No Mean Art.

What Was Silent In The Father Speaks In The Son, And Often I Found In The Son The Unveiled Secret Of The Father.

I Hate You Most Because You Attract, But Are Not Strong Enough To Pull Me To You.

A Subject For A Great Poet Would Be God's Boredom After The Seventh Day Of Creation.