The Past Is A Bucket Of Ashes

And Those Who Say, "i'll Try Anything Once," Often Try Nothing Twice, Three Times, Arriving Late At The Gate Of Dreams Worth Dying For.

Come Clean With A Child Heart Laugh As Peaches In The Summer Wind Let Rain On A House Roof Be A Song Let The Writing On Your Face Be A Smell Of Apple Orchards On Late June.

Poetry Is The Cipher Key To The Five Mystic Wishes Packed In A Hollow Silver Bullet Fed To A Flying Fish.

Where Was I Going? I Puzzled And Wondered About It Til I Actually Enjoyed The Puzzlement And Wondering.

One Of The Greatest Necessities In America Is To Discover Creative Solitude.