Nothing Happens Unless First We Dream.

And All Poets Love Dust And Mist Because All The Last Answers. Go Running Back To Dust And Mist.

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.

The More Rhymethere Isin Poetry The More Dangerof Its Tricking The Writer Into Something Other Than The Urge In The Beginning.

Such A Big Miracle In Such A Tiny Baby. Big Things Often Have Small Beginnings A Baby Is God's Opinion That Life Should Go On.

Time Is The Coin Of Life. Only You Can Determine How It Will Be Spent.