Poetry Is A Slipknot Tightened Around A

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.

I Had Been Keeping An Off Eye On The Advertising Field, Thinking I Might Become An Idea Man And A Copywriter.

I Fell In Love, Not Deep, But I Fell Several Times And Then Fell Out.

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

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.