People Often Say 'i Live For My

Cats Have It All - Admiration, An Endless Sleep, And Company Only When They Want It.

We Will All Wake Up Semi-angels, If We Wake At All.

I Cannot Speculate On What Our Cluttered Mind Will Save- Sleepy Sundays, Or A Nosebleed After Love. I Know Only The Dying Heart Needs The Nourishment Of Memory To Live Beyond Too Many Winters.

The Journey Back Is Always Longer Than The Forward Run.

A Poet Can't Afford To Be Aloof. The Tools Of His Trade Are The People He Bumps Up Against.