Time Is A Sandpile We Run Our

Money Buys Everything Except Love, Personality, Freedom, Immortality, Silence, Peace.

Poetry Is A Packsack Of Invisible Keepsakes.

Poetry Is A Phantom Script Telling How Rainbows Are Made And Why They Go Away.

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.

I Have Often Wondered What It Is An Old Building Can Do To You When You Happen To Know A Little About Things That Went On Long Ago In That Building.