The Time For Your Labor Has Been

I Secretly Assumed, As Poets Do, The Duty On Me To Define The Moon.

The Mightiest Love Was Granted Him Love That Does Not Expect To Be Loved.

The Falklands Thing Was A Fight Between Two Bald Men Over A Comb.

On The Floor, And Hanging On To The Bar, Squatted An Old Man, Immobile As An Object. His Years Had Reduced And Polished Him As Water Does A Stone Or The Generations Of Men Do A Sentence.

All Theories Are Legitimate, No Matter. What Matters Is What You Do With Them.