Poetry: A Sliver Of The Moon Lost

Let The Gentle Bush Dig Its Root Deep And Spread Upward To Split The Boulder.

Rest Is Not A Word Of Free People. Rest Is A Monarchical Word.

Yesterday And Tomorrow Cross And Mix On The Skyline. The Two Are Lost In A Purple Haze. One Forgets, One Waits.

To Never See A Fool You Lock Yourself In Your Room And Smash The Looking-glass.

The Secret Of Happiness Is To Admire Without Desiring.