There Are Men And Women So Lonely

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.

Poetry Is The Harnessing Of The Paradox Of Earth Cradling Life And Then Entombing It.

Poetry Is An Exhibit Of One Pendulum Connecting With Other And Unseen Pendulums Inside And Outside The One Seen.

Poetry: A Sliver Of The Moon Lost In The Belly Of A Golden Frog.

All My Life I Have Been Trying To Learn To Read, To See And Hear, And To Write.