Slang Is A Language That Rolls Up

There Is No Song To Your Singing.

It Is Necessary Now And Then For A Man To Go Away By Himself And Experience Loneliness; To Sit On A Rock In The Forest And To Ask Of Himself, 'who Am I, And Where Have I Been, And Where Am I Going?'...if One Is Not Careful, One Allows Diversions To Take Up One's Time-the Stuff Of Life

Now Is The Time. It Is Never Too Late To Start Something.

Poetry Is The Journal Of A Sea Animal Living On Land, Wanting To Fly In The Air.

I Make It Clear Why I Write As I Do And Why Other Poets Write As They Do. After Hundreds Of Experiments I Decided To Go My Own Way In Style And See What Would Happen.