Poetry Is A Packsack Of Invisible Keepsakes.

Poetry Is A Slipknot Tightened Around A Time-beat Of One Thought, Two Thoughts, And A Last Interweaving Thought There Is Not Yet A Number For.

I Remember The Chillicothe Ballplayers Grappling The Long Island Ball Players In A Sixteen-inning Game Ended By Darkness. And The Shoulders Of The Chillicothe Players Were A Red Smoke Against The Sundown And The Shoulders Of The Rock Island Players Were A Yellow Smoke Against The Sundown. And The Umpire's Voice Was Hoarse Calling Balls And Strikes And Outs And The Umpire's Throat Fought In The Dust For A Song.

There Are People Who Want To Be Everywhere At Once, And They Get Nowhere

Poetry Is A Projection Across Silence Of Cadences Arranged To Break That Silence With Definite Intentions Of Echoes, Syllables, Wave Lengths.

The People Will Live On.the Learning And Blundering People Will Live On.